


A Warm Gun

by stilesune



Series: Labyrinth [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesune/pseuds/stilesune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You do what you have to do, lie when you have to, even kill when necessary, and hope that all will be forgiven in the end. It's all to protect your pack." </i>
</p>
<p>Everything begins to unravel, lies and secrets coming to light, when the dead were never dead to begin with. Now Stiles has to cope with a birthright and these ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The sign still welcomed me to Beacon Hills with a population of just over seven thousand. It promised a good stay and wonderful times. It was the same as it’d been eight months ago when I’d returned to Beacon Hills for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. It was probably even the same from when I left the town so long ago. How often were things like that updated, anyways?

My good friend Henry Deaton had called to inform me some interesting information about my son. I hadn’t seen him since he was young, too young, and I hated that. But the circumstances back then didn’t allow for me to be part of his life. Not then, at least. Now though, it was imperative that I become a permanent fixture once more.

Explaining was going to be difficult for both of us; my reasons for leaving would not be easy to swallow. Not for my son and not for my ex, who was in the dark about everything, more so than my son. He at least had an inclination of the supernatural with his current situation.

It’d been hard leaving again after seeing him in our home, watching him from outside with binoculars and the shadows as cover for an hour in the night while he healed from battle. It’d been hard to drive away and know that I could be leaving him in danger. But Deaton had reassured me that he was being taken care of, that there were eyes on him almost every day to make sure he stayed whole until I could get back.

Now that I was, the urge to runaway again was strong. I’d told Deaton that I needed to ‘take care of things’, but the reality had been that I wasn’t ready to face this. I wasn’t ready to face the empty house that loomed before me. Long ago, it’d held happiness, warmth, laughter. Now it just seemed hollow, lonely, a place to sleep and eat and little else. It didn’t seem like a home anymore.

The driveway was empty of cars, no bikes strewn across the front, no laughter coming from a tree house in the backyard that had long since rotted. It was depressingly quiet as I stepped from the car. The ghosts of happier memories played out as I walked around the back. Father and son building a tree house for the young boy and his three best friends, setting up an inflatable pool in the middle of a particularly nasty heat wave, the rare first snowfall that led to laying in the slush and making imprints before building a wall of snow to start a snowball war. It was a completely different lifetime ago.

I refused to let go of those memories, the things that had kept me sane and alive since leaving – had reminded me the reason that I left in the first place: to protect my family. It’d been the hardest decision I’d ever made, to walk away, especially with my son so young. I missed so much.

I tore myself away from staring at the dilapidated tree house to search for the extra key to the house. I was surprised, but grateful, to find it in the exact same spot it’d been in since putting it there fifteen years ago. It slid into the lock, sticking a couple of times as it tried to worm its way through the tumblers and grooves and find its home.

Taking my first step into the house was like a punch into the gut. Nothing had changed too much, the big and important things still the same. It was like walking into a time capsule, the comfort it brought was warming and I felt bones relax and lose the tension I didn’t even know they had. Home, safety. It was all right in this room. But it wasn’t mine anymore. There were no touches of me anywhere, a picture here and there but little else. It was tidy, not necessarily clean but tidy all the same. A quick sweep of a mop and cloth to keep the home habitable for a single working parent and teenaged boy.

I couldn’t help but gravitate towards the pictures that I’d spotted myself in. It was weird to relate that to being myself with my family. Everything I’d seen, everything I’d _done_ in the last years of my life away from Beacon Hills tainted the image. I was happier then. I smiled in the pictures. I could _have_ pictures of me out there.

Now it was solitude, running, hiding. There was no peace, no happiness, little promise of a better tomorrow.

Being home now definitely didn’t bring those things back, no matter how much I wished they could. My return was only going to bring pain, sorrow to all those involved. And the dangers of my life were sure to follow soon after.

 

  



	2. Chapter 1

The burn in his lungs was familiar, but this was a lot more high stakes than Coach making him do more suicides if he failed the first set. This was _he’d be eaten if he failed_ running. He could feel the heart pounding through his chest, reverberating into his throat and making it feel impossible to take deep breaths to feed his starving lungs. His body was trying to tell him to slow down, stop, it’s too much! But he couldn’t.

He kept pounding through the woods, jumping over logs and boulders, dips in the land, to try to live. Just a little further, just keep going and maybe he’ll come, maybe he’ll get up and come save the human’s life. Surely he was close enough to hear the human’s heartbeat, smell his fear, as the werewolf behind him snarled and slowed its gait enough to keep up with the teenager, but enjoy the chase and sharp tang of his emotions in the air.

“Derek!” He screamed, arms flailing to keep himself upright as he slipped along the muddying Earth. The clearing was close; he could see the claw marks on the trees from where Derek, Zane and Brenna took turns training Scott. He just had to get to the clearing where the dilapidated Hale house sat, and he would be fine… as long as Derek was home.

The rain was pelting harder, slapping into his skin and making his clothes feel heavier on his body. Stupid, freakin’ rain! It was all because of the weather. He wouldn’t have been caught alone near the preserve if the rain hadn’t caused the dirt road to get slippery with mud. As he drove back into town from visiting the library two towns over to get more books on lycanthropy, he wouldn’t have skidded out and blown a tire in the middle of the weather, and then been stalked by a crazy werewolf if it weren’t for the rain.

He was at least grateful that it wasn’t the forecasted snow hitting already in early November. Then he really would’ve been screwed. He wouldn’t be able to run in snow. He’d have been nothing more than a red smear sinking into the layers of ice.

The clearing was a bit of a blessing as he came up on the back of the Hale house, his legs giving out as soon as he skidded to a stop. His hands and knees were soaked through with mud now, the thick substance feeling gooey as he tried to inch his way back. The werewolf looked like Derek’s Beta form on steroids, with black hair and even blacker eyes. He smiled – or what Stiles likened to a smile – predatorily as he stalked forward slowly on his hands and feet.

Stiles’ breath misted in the air, shuddering out as the cold began to seep into his skin, his body, as the adrenaline quickly purged itself from him.

He was going to die.

“That was fun, little lamb. You worked my appetite up good.” The wolf licked his chops, and Stiles was more terrified by that imagery than being insulted at the _lamb_ remark.

“L-look, you don’t want to eat me. I eat a lot of fatty foods, a lot of salt; I probably won’t taste very good. How about a nice bunny rabbit? They eat carrots and greenery, I bet. I’m sure they taste like deep fried vegetables. Good for the growing werewolf. Go find Thumper!” Stiles stuttered out in a nervous tirade, falling back to rest on his butt as he searched blindly for any sort of dry patch that he could fist and throw at the wolf before taking off in a run.

He might be about to die, but he wasn’t going to be easy about it. Much as he was in other areas of his life, he was going to be the biggest pain in the ass he could be. He owed it to his father, who he was about to leave alone. Wife – dead in fiery car crash. Son – torn apart by a ‘cougar’. His father was going to end up an alcoholic, lose his job, the town would go to hell, and it’d all be because it just _had_ to rain today.

The wolf was tensing, leaning his weight forward on his hands and getting ready to push off, when he suddenly looked above Stiles. Stiles was nervous about looking away immediately, tilting his head up without removing his gaze from the wolf in case it was a trick. However, the wolf seemed riveted on something and was quickly growing agitated, so Stiles chanced darting his eyes up quickly.

Derek stood at the jagged mouth of his house’s second story, fully morphed into a pissed off Beta. With an angry roar, he flipped into the air in one fluid movement, landing crouched in front of Stiles’ shocked and relieved self.

The wolves growled at one another, trying to menace the other to back off.

“I saw him first, he’s my food!” The encroacher slammed his hands down in rage, showing his canines to assert dominance.

Derek didn’t back down, snapping out in his deepened voice, “He’s my pack!”

It was that which started the fight. Stiles slid backwards, flattening him against the rotting porch foundation as the two snarled at one another, clawing open flesh and snapping at necks as they rolled in the mud. If only they weren’t trying to kill him, he might enjoy the sight… and also if they were two girls in bikinis instead of two dude werewolves.

Stiles thought it would last longer, that it’d be some epic battle that lasted hours between the two Betas trying to assert dominance over the other, but it didn’t. In reality, it took less than a couple of minutes, about as long as it took for Stiles to completely crash from his adrenaline rush.

Derek’s teeth sunk into the other wolf’s neck before yanking back. Stiles watched as Derek spat the chunk of flesh and blood and muscle to the ground, letting the wolf form fall to the ground dead. He slowly began shifting back to human, his neck _literally_ missing a chunk!

Stiles could see the pulse throbbing its last beats, see the convulsions of his throat, _his actual throat_ , as he tried reflexively to swallow while he died… and promptly twisted to the side to throw up the chili cheese dog and Cheeto’s he’d had after the library.

He dry heaved as Derek wiped to blood from his mouth with his shirt, morphing human again and looking disdainfully upon Stiles. “C’mon.” He growled, fisting the material of Stiles’ shirt on his shoulder and heaving him into a standing position. He practically had to help the teen walk until they were in the confines of his house.

Stiles paced nervously, his hands shaking as he ran them along his buzzed hair, feeling the points scratch at his sensitized flesh. This was so messed up. _So_ messed up. “It’s getting worse.” He muttered, though he knew Derek could hear him. “They’re hunting now. It’s getting worse.”

“We’ll take care of it. Brenna and Zane will put out word that Beacon Hills is claimed.”

“It’s not going to matter though because it’s not an Alpha claiming it, you said so yourself a few months ago when this started happening. ‘They’ll come to challenge it for themselves’, that’s what you said.” He rounded, pausing in his pacing to stare at Derek. He looked completely relaxed, leaning casually against the wall with his arms across his chest. He looked wholly unaffected at having just ripped someone’s throat out with his teeth. Literally! Now that he’d seen him do it, Stiles wasn’t ready to piss off the wolf who favored that threat when Stiles was particularly irritating.

“We’re taking care of it.” Derek’s tone ended the conversation before it could even really become one. “Where’s your car?”

“I don’t know. I blew a tire and when I was getting out to change it, Kujo came out of nowhere.” Stiles shrugged, feeling the exhaustion creep up on him.

“I’ll call Zane and Brenna out here, have them look for it and drive it back to your house after a sweep of the woods.” Derek shrugged his jacket on over his wet and muddied clothes, grabbing his keys from the pocket. “I’ll drive you home.”

Stiles took the pity where he could get it, not about to argue to go look for his car and drive home himself, because he was pretty sure he’d pass out against the wheel at this point.

The rain seemed to be tapering off slowly on the drive from the preserve into town. By the time they passed the animal hospital where Scott’s bike was chained up, the sun was even trying to come back out for the last few hours of light. The heat in the car was helping to dry him a little, his skin feeling tight and the mud splotches all over him making his clothes feel hard. The rain was only spitting as the silent drive came to an end in front of Stiles’ house.

His father’s cruiser was gone, luckily, so he didn’t have to explain where his car was, why he was full of mud, or why he was still shaking. He could go in, strip off his clothes, take a hot shower and then collapse into bed with no parental disapproval. He searched around his feet out of habit for his tattered backpack, only to remember he’d left it – along with all his schoolwork, the library books, his files (including a sparse one on the man sitting next to him) and everything else he held dear – in his Jeep currently sitting in the middle of the woods, vulnerable. His poor baby.

“Uh, thanks.” Stiles said awkwardly, angling his body to get out of the car. He was about to close the door when a random bit of information from Derek’s file popped into his head. A date: November 7, 1988. Bending down to look in the Camaro, he waited for Derek’s annoyed self to actually look at him. “By the way, happy birthday.” Without waiting for a response, he closed the door and began a slow walk up to the house.

He supposed he’d surprised the wolf, because he managed to find the spare key, wiggle the unused metal into the lock, get in the house, close the door and peel off his plaid over shirt before the rumble of the Camaro suddenly got louder with movement, and faded away.

The last year certainly had been hell on his nerves. Now they had to worry about two separate sects of rival werewolves. Ones looking to claim the territory and the others who were looking to join Peter’s pack, with one of the formers having just tried to make him a snack. At least he was home now. Nothing surprising or life threatening would happen here.

He trudged into the kitchen, grateful for hardwood floors and not carpet as mud trekked behind him. He’d clean it up after he showered. Or just listen to his father’s rant after he came home to see the smears and find his son unconscious in bed. He wasn’t sure which option he’d go with at this point.

The plan was to get the water bottle, go up to his room and swallow a fistful of Ibuprofen before going to sleep. However, he got as far as the water bottle, before he froze on his way out of the kitchen.

The niggling feeling in his stomach as he stood motionless in the door way between the kitchen and the dining room was like a strange sense of déjà vu from ten months ago. Back then, he had drunk from the carton of milk before spotting his father in his peripheral, working hard at the Hale case. Son had plied father with alcohol for the following hour trying to get information on how he was proceeding to make sure he wasn’t getting too close to the truth.

Now though, the figure had long brown hair trailing down her back. She was looking at the picture frames on the hutch that his mother used to use for cookbooks and that his father now used for alcohol.

“Who…” He barely got the word out before she turned her head just the slightest to give him her profile. He dropped his water bottle, the feeling of being punched in the gut reverberating through his body and firing off synapses in his brain as his memories lit up when the most familiar scent hit him. It was ingrained from a long time ago, a time that he’d put to rest and moved on from, had dealt with the grief as best he could.

“Mommy?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *giggles like a madwoman* I'll see you with the next chapter either Sunday or Monday! :)


	3. Chapter 2

“Mommy?” His throat closed halfway through talking, unsure how this was possible, what was going on, but there was his mother, standing in the den as if she hadn’t been dead for nearly nine years.

She turned completely, her eyes shining and head tilting as she looked him over properly for the first time since he was nine years old. “My God, you’ve gotten so big.”

Stiles felt like everything was collapsing around him, a black hole sucking his universe out from underneath his feet. This couldn’t be possible. There were just some things that _weren’t_ possible! He’d already gone down that road, researching online not long after finding out about the existence of werewolves. Resurrections, ghosts, those weren’t real.

He staggered back, the sharp edge of the counter digging painfully into the small of his back as he inched further and further away from his advancing mother. “Who are you?”

“It’s me, honey.” Her voice wavered, the tears in her eyes choking her voice as she tried to reach out to him.

“No. _No_. You… my mother died. There was barely even enough of her body to properly bury. We put a coffin in the ground. So don’t you _dare_ come into my home and tell me that you’re her.” Stiles feebly felt along the countertops, searching for a good weapon. The only things he came up with were dirty spoons and a spice rack. His mind couldn’t process more than the thought that _this isn’t right, it’s not her, it can’t be her_ over and over.

She took a deep breath, fiddling absentmindedly with a chain around her neck as she contemplated a way to prove that it was her. “I used to watch you like a hawk. Even when you were a seasoned pro at walking, and could talk on your own and hold conversations, I would always keep an eye on you. It drove your dad crazy,” she chuckled with an air of nostalgia, “The first time I finally took your father’s advice to let boys be boys, you were six. Scott and Jackson had the chickenpox, so it was just you and Danny. You were in the backyard in the tree house and you fell, broke your wrist. I was so furious at myself for not being there, feeling like a bad mother for talking with Danny’s mother, and the whole ride to the hospital, I kept telling myself that I was never going to let you out of my sight again. It took hours between getting admitted and tests and getting your cast, that I just about designed a room for you with padded walls, barred windows, and was measuring in my head how much extra it’d cost to widen the doorways and halls so that I could put you in a plastic, protective bubble.

“Then you asked the doctor if you could get a copy of the x-ray so that you could make copies and show everyone at school. I could just imagine you showing Danny and Scott and Jackson, preening over the break in your bone, and I was relieved. Because even though you’d been hurt badly for the first time, you were still you, it hadn’t tainted you. The next day, you were climbing right back up into that tree house, one handed, with Danny laughing at you and refusing to help give you a boost because it meant having to touch your butt. You were strong, a survivor, and I knew that you’d be okay no matter what.”

Stiles felt like everything was tipping sharply in one direction as he remembered the day perfectly from over ten years ago. He and Danny had been complaining about being kept from their other two best friends because they hadn’t had the chickenpox yet, and he’d flung himself down dramatically. His six-year-old self had misjudged how close he was to the ‘escape hatch’ entrance, and fell through the opening. It’d hurt, but it’d been cool to see his arm illuminated in an x-ray, especially with a clean break in the bone.

His knees finally gave way, causing him to slide uncomfortably against the cabinets, the knob dragging up his spine painfully as he sunk to the floor. “I don’t understand…”

“I know, sweetie, I know.” She empathized, getting to her knees on the floor in front of him.

He watched as she hesitated in reaching out to touch him, her face looking pained as if she needed to be holding him at that very moment. It wasn’t until he looked into her eyes, the eyes which is mirrored that his father mournfully tells him every time he’s drunk are so much like his mothers, that he realized he needed that too.

With a choked sob, his arms snapped out clumsily to grab his mother; touching her, hugging her, smelling her, for the first time in almost nine years. He inhaled as sobs wracked through both of them, the familiar perfume bringing back all sorts of memories. Times when she’d make him homemade soup while he was sick, times when she’d take him bowling after his father had to go off on a case that left his family worrying, times when she’d sing him to sleep after nightmares.

But it brought to the forefront the memories of the scent slowly fading away and becoming a distant memory that he tried so hard to cling to in the weeks after she’d died. Sobbing into shirts and pillowcases that held traces of it, looking for that bit of comfort when a nine year old couldn’t understand how he’d never see his Mommy again, why his Daddy couldn’t look at him without crying. He remembered the scent of lilies and roses overpowering the perfume all over his home in the days after her accident. The condolences, the pity, the way they couldn’t open the coffin, but the charred smell had drifted through it regardless.

He shoved away from her, sliding away to the side and scrambling to stand as the realization hit him. “You left us. You didn’t die, you _left_ us.”

“There’s so much to explain, I know.” Her tears left tracks through her make-up, mascara beginning to follow the wet trails as she sniffled. “I wanted to come back,” she started to say, but cut herself off when she saw the way Stiles was shaking his head. “Honey…”

“No.” He tried to quell the emotions that were raging through him. He was so happy, _so happy_ , to see his mother again after so long. Nonetheless, crushed tremendously at the implications that were bounding through his head. If she hadn’t died, which she obviously hadn’t, then she’d abandoned him and his father, her family. He was enraged that she put them through the grief and pain. However, the contradictory _hope_ that maybe things could be okay for them again was still there. He stood angrily however, holding onto the facts in his head instead of the hope in his heart, “You wanted to come back.” He stated slowly, mulling the words, “Well, why didn’t you? Where were you that you couldn’t call or text or send a freakin’ carrier pigeon?”

“There are things that happened and I’ll explain them if you’ll watch your mouth, young man.”

“Don’t pull that on me.” He spat back angrily, momentarily pleased with the shocked expression on her face. Damn straight. He wasn’t some kid that would hold his tongue when scolded anymore. “I’m not nine years old anymore. I’m almost eighteen now, in case you’ve lost track. You can’t pull the ‘you’re too young’ card when you disappeared for half my life. We thought you were dead. We had a funeral. There is a headstone that I visit every birthday and Christmas and stupid random Sunday morning when I miss your pancakes. Do you even care?”

“Of course I care! I wish I could…”

“Well, _I_ don’t care. Not about your excuses. I want you to leave. You don’t belong here, so don’t even think about seeing Dad. He’s moved on. He’s fine.” _He’s lying_. “We’re okay, just me and him. Go back to wherever you’ve been. We don’t need you.” Stiles crossed his arms resolutely over his chest, refusing to look her in the eye as his harsh words sunk in. They were lies – neither of the Stilinski men were okay without the matriarch, but if she’d abandoned them, left them to think she’d burned to death in a car accident, then they definitely didn’t need her.

“I’ll be in town, because I’m not leaving again. You’ll know how to find me when you really want to.” She said cryptically, hesitating a moment before slipping out the back door.

Stiles lasted a few heartbeats before he found himself on his hands and knees, dry heaving over the linoleum. He sank unceremoniously to the floor again. He needed… needed to do something. His mind shut down, slipping into autopilot mode as he looked around at the mess he’d made of the kitchen. He needed to clean the mud, shower, abolish all scents in the air that his mother’s perfume clung on. His dad was on his way home from his shift soon and he couldn’t know, could never find out that his beloved wife was alive and well.

Before he could even fathom how, he’d cleaned the kitchen and was stripping himself to get under the scalding spray of the shower. It burned like miniature fire pokers nagging at his skin as he watched the brown gunk in the drain, bubbling as it tried to go through the small slats, and imagined the flowery scent flowing off his arms, neck, face, everywhere that she’d touched him.

He imagined slamming his fist into the blue tiles of the shower wall in front of him that he used to brace himself up with the flat of his palms. He could envision his blood running swiftly, merging with the rivulets of water as he expressed his rage. It was something he’d seen on TV once, but the person expressing their rage was a super being and could heal. All he’d get for his troubles was a quick release of emotional pain, followed by excruciating physical pain and multiple broken bones.

Stepping from the shower once his skin was splotchy red and feeling raw, he wrapped the towel around his waist and let the air nip at his skin to cool it. He felt impossibly old in the moment he took to breathe. Everything in the last ten months was collapsing in on him. The guilt he felt about Scott being turned, being chased, hounded, threatened repeatedly by a handful of werewolves, having to lie right to his father’s face, using him for information, the Alpha telling him he basically wanted him as his pet, everything with Lydia, and now this.

He felt lightheaded as he thought over the implications of everything. There were so many questions and absolutely no answers. Why would his mother do this? How did she do it? Why come back now? Who in the hell had they buried? How was it possible that the medical examiner had positively identified Natasha Stilinski as the charred remains found in the car at the bottom of the cliff if she’d just been standing downstairs twenty minutes ago?

Stiles sucked in several deep breaths, forcing down his panic as he heard his father call out that he was home from downstairs. He rushed quickly from the bathroom to his bedroom, shouting out a short greeting to let him know that he was home. He was struggling to come up with a plausible lie for his Jeep not being in the driveway – Scott borrowed it ‘cause his bike had a flat tire? Implausible, he never let anyone else drive. He could just go with _he_ had a flat tire, which was the truth, and then have to try to explain how he got home. It was an unsteady stream of crap lie after crap lie, when he caught sight of his keys on his computer desk.

Rushing to the slightly ajar window and angling his head, he could spot the taillight to his precious Jeep. He sighed in relief, not even bothering to analyze why he wasn’t surprised or freaked out in the least that Brenna, Zane or Derek had snuck into his room while he was showering and left his keys for him.

“Hey, buddy!” His father shouted as he jogged up the steps.

Stiles rushed around, grabbing up boxers and jeans to pull on quickly, nearly tripping over a leg he hadn’t gotten into fully and caught under the opposite foot in his haste to answer his door. “What’s up dad?” He questioned, slightly out of breath.

“Pizza and the playoff game tonight? I’ll even let you have a beer.” He tried to use the bribe to entice some father-son time. They hadn’t had time for it lately with the ongoing election and trying to be reelected to his position.

Stiles took in the lines around his father’s eyes, the faint parenthesis around his mouth. Marks from a happier time when his mother was alive. Now they expressed his tiredness, his difficult and lonely life. All because his wife had died, as far as he was concerned. But she hadn’t. How the hell was he supposed to keep this from his dad? The only person that actually understood his grief and held him day in and day out and let him curl up in bed with him for weeks after the funeral, after coming home from being bullied by Jackson, after nightmares about burnt zombies chasing him.

“That sounds excellent, daddy-o. I just have to go to Scott’s for an hour or so to wrap up a project for school tomorrow and then it’s you, me, pizza, beers, and the Mets.” Stiles promised, rushing it out in one nervous breath.

“Beer. Singular. You get one beer, kiddo.” The Sheriff corrected, “I made a promise to uphold the law and I’m still the Sheriff, for now at least.”

“You’re a shoo-in for the win. Thompson ain’t got nothin’ on you.” Stiles punched his dad in the shoulder playfully, grimacing through a smile at the awkwardness of it.

“Alright.” He eyed his son curiously, “Good luck with your project. I’ll grab a nap while you’re gone. See you in a few hours, son.”

“Hey dad,” Stiles started as the older man began to walk away. When he stopped and turned to face him, Stiles continued in all seriousness, “I love you.”

The declaration caught him off guard, the sheriff’s mind flashing to his little boy saying that to him for the first time. Back when it was cool for his boy to express things like that daily, before it became dorky as a preteen. “I love you too, Stiles.” He kissed his son on his forehead, running a hand over the rough growth of buzzed hair. “Drive safe.”

Stiles collapsed back against the door, letting out a breath harshly as he tried to calm his heartbeat. He needed to hold it all together. Shove it into a padlocked box in the back of his head until he could get out of the house. Maybe going to Scott’s would be a good thing. His best friend would know what to do, right? Or at the least, he’d keep Stiles from freaking out in such epic proportions that he ended hurting himself or someone else.

With a shirt on and keys in hand, Stiles booked it out of the house. He tried to keep one thought in his mind as he drove at top speed to Scott’s house. Just get to Scott’s and everything will be okay. Just get to Scott’s and everything will be okay. Just get to Scott’s and everything will be okay. He kept repeating it to himself over and over and over until he realized he’d swerved into the oncoming lane and was brought from his mantra by a loud honk.

He moved back into his own lane jerkily, his heart thumping, breaths panting. He had one hilarious thought – he could’ve just died the same way his Mom had.

Only, she hadn’t. It’d all been a lie.

He slammed his foot on the brake, one tire rolling up on the curb outside Scott’s house. His mother wasn’t home, but his bike was thrown haphazardly against the hibiscus bushes lining the front of the house. He felt his chest tightening, gasping for breath as it all started to crash in on him. Reaching the door, he banged the side of his fist against it continuously while his free hand pressed against his chest. He tried to will his heartbeat to calm, to allow him to breathe. His body had other ideas though.

Scott opened the door, pausing for a moment before he was able to take in Stiles freaking out on his doorstep. “Stiles, what’s happened? What’s wrong? Is it your dad? Is he okay?” He grasped his friend’s shoulders, turning him to face him completely so that he could see into his face, his eyes, try to discern what was going on.

“She’s back.” Stiles muttered, “She’s back, Scott, she’s back.”


	4. Chapter 3

Scott sat perched on the edge of his bed, legs jiggling nervously as he watched Stiles. His best friend was uncharacteristically quiet, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn to his chest. He’d muttered nonsensically about ‘she’ and ‘being back’ and how it was all ‘impossible’ for the first ten minutes before lapsing into silence.

It scared him more than anything that Stiles was silent. Stiles was never silent. He was the one constant in Scott’s life, the one thing he knew above all else. That Stiles never stopped moving – not his hands, his mouth, his brain. He was always on. But now he was inexplicably off.

The only way he knew how to deal with this was to call Derek. The older Beta must’ve decided it was a pack thing, and called Brenna and Zane who showed up several minutes ago. Scott could smell the curiosity and worry from the Betas. In the last eight months they’d been in town, they’d taken to Stiles. He was sort of like the mascot of the pack – not that the human considered himself pack, not that Derek would even admit he was aloud. But Zane thought of Stiles like a little brother and Brenna – though, like Derek, would never admit aloud – cared for him as well.

“Did he say Kate, specifically?” Brenna questioned, her nostrils flaring and her brow furrowing as she honed in on the scents surrounding Stiles.

“No. Just _she’s back_ and that’s it. There’s no one else he could be talking about. I already checked with Allison and Lydia’s still in a coma, so it’s not her.” With a helpless shrug, he gestured to Stiles, “Who or what else could scare him enough, someone that we know, to make him like this?”

“What’s going on?” Derek asked, entering through the bedroom door for a change. He momentarily paused at seeing Stiles practically rocking himself in a corner. Mentally shaking himself from the surprise of Stiles’ state, he snapped, “What happened?”

“Kate’s back.” Scott was the only one to offer the answer. He knew why Brenna and Zane hadn’t offered the information, because Derek’s eyes instantly flashed blue, everything about him tensing from his jaw to his fists.

“Are you sure?”

“Stiles showed up here twenty minutes ago completely freaked out. All he said that I could make sense of was ‘she’s back’ before he ended up like this.” Scott gestured to the ball on the floor, “It has to be her.”

“What I don’t understand though,” Zane started, “Is why would she go to Stiles? They’ve never really had any actual contact before, right?”

“He’s the human. He’s the most vulnerable because while she’s nuts, I don’t see her using Allison as bait. He’s directly connected to Scott, she knows that Derek feels some sort of responsibility for him because he and Scott are part of the same pack by way of Peter, and he’s also the son of the Sheriff. There are multiple rational reasons to go to Stiles.” Brenna theorized as she slowly walked toward the boy. When their toes practically lined up, she crouched in front of him, assessing.

“Maybe she’s making a move?” Scott offered.

“But what is it?” Derek growled, pacing restlessly from the doorjamb to the window and back again. If Kate were back, he should’ve smelt her. The cloud around Stiles was familiar, putrid with fear and confusion. But the distinctively womanly scent that he could pick up niggled at the back of his head. It wasn’t the Kate he remembered, the Kate he’d purposely ingrained into his mind for moments like this.

Brenna tuned out the boys in the background as they threw around theories and strategies. They didn’t know what they were dealing with, but they were already trying to figure out the best strategic way to kill the female hunter without getting backlash from her brother, whom they had a truce with at the moment that benefited everyone in Beacon Hills.

Stiles was fidgeting, running trembling hands over his buzzed hair, gnawing at his lips until they were plump and red, squeezing his eyes shut and thumping his head back against the wall. He looked like he was warring with himself in his head, and she could feel herself relating to that. Without thinking, she reached out and slipping her hand into his lax one.

It took a moment before she was able to recognize the minute reaction – the soft pressure around her fingers, the flicker in his eyes. “Stiles?” She asked him quietly, searching his eyes and seeing that they were brightening with alertness.

He exhaled, the breath holding just a bit of tone to it like he was trying to form words. But he jerked a little when the three male wolves crowded in behind Brenna.

“What happened? – Did she hurt you? – What does she want? – Are you okay?” The questions overlapped one another as they all barraged Stiles with their individual inquiries.

“It’s not Kate.” Stiles said has he pressed his back against the wall, lifting his hips up to slide himself into a standing position. He still reclined against the solid base of wall, his legs feeling weak like he’d just run a mile. It was hard to believe that just a couple of hours ago, he had. He’d been running from a rabid Beta. It seemed like ages ago.  
“What?” Everyone questioned after a short pause to digest the words. The tension melted from the air as the direness seemed to deflate with those three words.

“I wasn’t talking about Kate. She’s not back.”

Scott watched from the corner of his eye as Derek, Brenna and Zane reacted. He was more focused on how small Stiles was trying to make himself. He looked exhausted. Like he’d just been thrown into hell and torn back out of it.

“Useless, Goddamn humans.” Derek growled, his hand smacking into the wall by the doorframe.

“Hey!” Scott shouted indignantly as every piece of furniture, and whatever sat on it, seemed to shake from the vibrations in the plaster. His words fell on deaf ears as Derek stomped from his room without another word.

Brenna and Zane lingered a few moments longer to make sure that Stiles was alright, before following Derek’s footsteps and leaving the McCall residence. He waited until he couldn’t hear the roar of Brenna’s Charger, before crowding in on his best friend. “What’s going on Stiles? What, or who, has you so freaked out?”

“I got home and she was just standing in the living room, man.” Stiles rubbed his hands through the three-week growth of hair on his head. He wished in that moment that he kept it longer so that he could _pull_ and feel the satisfactory stretch and burn. But no, he had to shave it ‘cause it was fewer products to have to worry about trying to figure out. Not all guys could be Jackson, after all, who knew how to work Got 2 B’s entire line effortlessly. “Like she’d never died. She was right there.”

The gnawing feeling of butterflies in Scott’s stomach that had been pestering him since first seeing the state Stiles was in was now a full on T-Rex snacking on his insides.

“It’s my Mom, Scott. My Mom’s alive.”

In Scott’s immediate shock, he failed to detect the sharp intake of breath in his backyard. He missed the spike of fear in the air, the angered growl, the slight tang of wet dog that clung to every werewolf. What he did hear, were the hurried footsteps crunching on grass in the opposite direction from the McCall home. But he was too wrapped up in Stiles’ bombshell to put further thought into it. His best friend needed him more than his wolf’s curiosity needed to be sated.

“How is this even possible?” Scott questioned, his mind running a mile a minute. He had been there with Stiles at the funeral, watched the coffin be put in the ground, had punched Jackson the first time he made a crack about Stiles wanting his Mommy during a fight. He remembered vividly the way his best friend had tried to put himself back together again after his idyllic world was smashed to pieces.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Stiles snapped in response.

“Didn’t she tell you?”

Stiles opened his mouth, leaving it agape for a moment as words failed him. “She wanted to, but I told her to get out.”

“You…” Scott blinked, “You told your mother who’s just come back from the dead to _get out_? Are you _stupid_?”

Stiles glared, “I was in shock! I was angry! I just went to her grave, Scott, and four days later, she’s standing in my kitchen. _Alive_. Not standing there like she’s undead, Scott. One hundred percent real live breathing human. What else was I going to do? Offer to make coffee?”

Scott nodded, understanding that it must’ve been incredibly terrifying for Stiles to walk into an assumedly empty house and spot a ghost. “Do you know how to find her now?”

“She…” Stiles brow furrowed, “She said I’d know how. I don’t know how. I came here to see if maybe you could track her?”

“I’ve never done that before, I-I wouldn’t know how. Derek hasn’t taught me how to do that.” Scott admitted.

“It can’t be too hard. Have you ever been at school and wanted to see Allison so much that you wandered the halls until suddenly you were able to find her?” Stiles watched as Scott lit up, confirming what the human had suspected. “Yeah, that’s tracking, Scott.” He spoke as if talking to a toddler.

“Okay…” Scott said slowly, choosing to ignore his best friend’s patronizing tone. “But how am I supposed to track your mother?”

“You’re the werewolf; shouldn’t you figure that part out? Why does the human have to do all the leg work?” In actuality, Stiles hadn’t thought of that. If he had, he would’ve brought something she’d touched while encroaching in a home she gave up on, abandoned. “Can you smell anything off in my scent? She… she hugged me, but I’ve showered since.”

Scott paused, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply as he stepped up to Stiles. His brow furrowed after a moment as he tried to sift through the myriad of scents attached to his best friend. There was Brenna who’d tried to comfort him not ten minutes ago, soap, faint traces of mud and Derek, the leather of his jeep and… something floral with a hint of spice. It reminded him of Missus Stilinski and her sugar cookies. His eyes snapped open, a victorious smile spreading his boyish features. “I think I got it!”

“Good boy.” Stiles resisted the urge to pat Scott on the head, who was acting as if his tail would be wagging from learning a new trick if he had one. “Don’t lose it.” He instructed before leading Scott from the house. “I’ll drive; you hunt that scent down like it’s a juicy rabbit.”

It took two hours and four detours when Scott’s nose got distracted, before he was able to track the right scent to a motel just outside of Beacon Hills’ welcome and leaving signs. They had been sitting in the parking lot for a quarter of the hour, staring that the door where Stiles’ mother was waiting for him.

Scott stared at Stiles’ blank face, trying to get a read on them just from scents shifting in the air. His emotions were erratic, stress the most consistent as it choked the wolf. “I can go with you.” He offered, hoping that Stiles would like that idea. He didn’t like the situation and didn’t trust his pack mate’s mother.

Stiles shook his head negatively though. “I have to do this.” The ‘alone’ was implied, almost as apparent at the end of the sentence as if he’d actually said it. With a deep breath, Stiles peeled his fingers from the steering wheel, flexing them as he threw a weak smile at Scott.

“I’ll be right here.” Scott promised, “I won’t be listening though to give you some privacy, so if you need me, go to the window or throw something at it or… something.”

Stiles smiled at his friend’s concern. It felt nice to be back to The Stiles and Scott Show. Just the two of them being there for one another. He’d missed their friendship being easy in the last year. Not that this was particularly easy.

Scott clapped his shoulder, returning Stiles’ smile with a tight-lipped one of his own, “Good luck.”

Stiles got out of his Jeep and walked to the door that Scott had claimed his mother’s scent was strongest behind. He paused to wipe his hands on the thighs of his jeans repeatedly. They were shaking and sweating, the stress making his nerves fragile. He was prepped to knock when he heard the lock shift and click for the inside. Taking that as his cue, his hand closed around the knob, and with a deep breath, he opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is out earlier than I intended to be posting it, because I'm celebrating finally finishing chapter six, and chapters 7/8 which are two interludes to carry on subplots. So woohoo! The story's getting a move on. The next chapter should be up mid-week. Wednesday or Thursdayish.


	5. Chapter 4

The room was a generic motel room with two twin beds and nightstands that were matched to the plain wooden headboards on the beds. Across from them was a dresser with a TV sat on top. The only other thing in the room was a door that presumably led to the bathroom, and a wardrobe in the far corner.

“I’m glad you came.” His mother sat on the bed farthest from the door, the edge of her suitcase peeking out from underneath it. She ran her hands nervously along her thighs, exactly like Stiles had outside the door.

“Like I had much choice,” he glared, folding his arms against his chest. “My mother shows up after nearly a decade of being supposedly dead. It piques the curiosity.”

She let out a sigh, scrubbing her hands through her hair and ruffling the long strands. Stiles had never noticed when he was younger, but now he was realizing that many of his nervous habits stemmed from her. Maybe that was why his father would stare at him with misty eyes and then go get a beer, or a glass of Bourbon, before digging out the photo albums and heading to his room to reminisce. Not that his father thought Stiles noticed. Being an aloof teenager had its benefits – he could surveil stealthily and it provided him the luxury of letting his father keep up the façade that he was alright, which they both needed to believe.

“There’s so much to tell you,” she admitted while rising from the bed. She took a couple of hesitant steps towards her son who tensed at the movement. “I don’t even know where to being. I always pictured this moment in my head but none of what I came up with seems adequate now.”

He supposed it was a good thing that she’d been planning to return at some point, but it didn’t make any of this easier or hurt any less. “How about you start with why?” He requested, voice breaking on the inquiry.

“There’s…” she paused to take another deep breath. Stiles did that himself to buy time in a conversation where he needed to think up the way to properly word something or figure out a convincing lie. “No simple explanation for that. To tell you the full reason of why right now would take a lot of time that we don’t have and just bring up more questions than answers.”

He huffed a breath out in annoyance, shaking his head. “Try giving me the cliff notes version.”

She eyed him at his tone, her gaze berating like when he’d acted up in public as a child. “Someone very bad and twice as dangerous was out to hurt me, and was posing a threat to you and your father. I left to protect you.”

Now he understood about the _more questions than answers_. “Who would be after you? You were on the PTA, volunteered at animal shelters and the vet’s office, you worked in a bakery! Did you spit in the batter or something?”

“More questions,” she reiterated. “I need you to believe that I left to protect you.” She sounded earnest, desperate.

“Alright, here should be an easy one: where have you been all this time?” He needed to know, but the potential answers scared him, the doors it could open.

“Everywhere. I moved to big cities every six months or so. I was in Washington, New York, Texas, Virginia. I was all over the place.” She smiled as if she was reliving a beautiful vacation. She caught herself upon seeing her son’s face. He looked betrayed. “Everywhere I lived, before I left, I would always buy a postcard. I would fill it out and tell you about the new places, talk about what I thought you’d like. I…” She held up a finger and went to a nightstand. She tilted it back and forth, rocking it side to side while pulling until it was far enough out on the carpet so she could grope blindly along the back panel. After several beats, she pulled an envelope out that had been taped back there. It was thick and weathered, like it’d been handled frequently.

She seemed hesitant to reach out again towards him, and opted to put the envelope on the bed closest to Stiles, who stood staunchly by the door.

He wanted to reach out and grab it, the naturally curious side of him eager to dig through it all. It could even give him insight into what she’d been doing, maybe clues that could answer questions. He held fast though, tensing to keep from impulsively grabbing for it.

“I wanted to send them but there wasn’t any way I could without coming to show you I’ve been alive. I couldn’t do that until now.”

“Did you… do you have another family?” The thought that she’d remarried, that he might have step- or half-siblings out there made him sick and feel inadequate in the beats it took for her to answer.

“Of course not, honey. You and your father are the loves of my life. No one could ever measure up to that.” She pulled at a chain around her neck, yanking it from beneath her shirt. On the chain were a locket and her wedding ring clinking together with movement. He’d given the locket to her when he was eight as a Mother’s Day present. Their last before she ‘died’. “There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought of you or missed you or wanted to come home.”

“Have you been back at all since you left?” There was a moment of considering silence. Not quite a pause, but more than a hesitation. It caused Stiles to clench his jaw. “Don’t even think about lying to me anymore than you already have. If you do, I walk out of here and I will never speak to you again.”

“I was in town eight months ago.” She admitted quietly, bowing her head as she nervously twined her fingers.

The anger was back full force. He’d come for answers and got ten more questions for each one he received. He was naïve to think this could be cut and dry. “Did you–”

“Yes.” She interrupted smoothly, “I saw you briefly before I left again. I wanted to make sure you were safe with the… developments in your life since I left you.”

“Abandoned.” Stiles corrected angrily. “You _abandoned_ us. No amount of reasoning or excuses or lies will rewrite the historic fact that you abandoned your husband and son.”

“I had no choice!” Their tempers flared identically. “I honestly shouldn’t have to explain myself to you. I’m your mother. You should respect that there are things I can’t, and alternatively won’t, tell you and leave it at that.”

“You can’t honestly believe that you don’t owe me an in depth explanation into your death. Faked death at that.” Her silence spoke volumes – she wasn’t going to explain anymore than she already had. “You know who I respect? My father. He gave up a lot, _sacrificed_ , to give me everything I needed or wanted. He put up with me when the Adderall wasn’t working and I was insane. He’s put up with a lot in the last year especially. That’s what I respect. That no matter what I’ve done or said or will do, he’ll still love me and be there for me and never leave me. I… I don’t even know what to think of you.”

There was a tense moment when the son glared at his estranged mother before he turned and left the motel room without another word.

Natalie watched her son climb into his Jeep, ignoring Scott calling out to him as he peeled out of the parking lot. Turning her attention to Scott, she watched him sigh, hands full of vending machine snacks.

His nostrils flared before he went rigid. Pivoting slowly, Scott swallowed a bite of candy and simply stared at the ghost standing eight feet from him. “Hi, Missus Stilinski.” He greeted shakily.

“Hello, Scott.” Natalie responded kindly. She smiled sweetly, looking over the teen who she still remembered as being a gangly, awkward little boy. “How’s your mother doing?”

“Fine, fine. Still working at the hospital, still kicking my butt. She’s been great for Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski too, over the years.”

She chuckled, wondering if Scott was still relatively clueless or if that was an intentional dig. Perhaps a little of both. “So, Scott.” He looked up expectantly, taking a healthy bite out of the Snickers in his hand. “How long have you been a werewolf?”


	6. Chapter 5

The quiet of the cemetery was only disturbed by the rustle of leaves and an odd sniffle. The teen-aged boy sat against his mother’s headstone, shredding the Gerber daisies he’d left on the grave only days before. He threw the petals angrily, watching with little satisfaction as they floated on the air a few inches before landing softly on the grass at his feet.

The cloud cover gave him shade, giving the winter day an extra chill to the air. Stiles couldn’t gather his thoughts anywhere else like he could at his mother’s gravesite. He knew others would find it creepy and depressing but it was the only place he found solace.

That was tainted now. He didn’t know who it was that he’d been mourning since he was nine years old, bringing flowers to, crying over. If his mother was alive, then who was the person in the coffin that gave him nightmares after burying them?

“What are you doing?” The growly timber of Derek’s voice interrupted Stiles’ solace.

He looked up to see the beta two rows of headstones away, watching. With a chortle, he went back to mutilating the flowers. “Scott called you.”

“No.” Derek sounded annoyed and, for once, it wasn’t aimed at Stiles. “He called Brenna to let her know it wasn’t Kate you were babbling about. He wouldn’t say who it was but he promised Brenna that it wasn’t Kate. Brenna had Zane relay the message to me.”

Silence lapsed for several minutes, Stiles was content to ignore the werewolf’s presence while he was content to scrutinize the human. That silence was broken when Derek’s shoes crunched leaves and grass as he moved closer.

The werewolf seemed to hesitate before sitting across from Stiles. “Your mother?” He asked, gesturing to the headstone Stiles braced himself against.

The teen shrugged. “Don’t know. Who really knows? She was burned beyond recognition. Could’ve been deep-fried-anyone for all I know.” His anger and cynicism controlled his mouth.

Derek growled a warning to Stiles’ verbalized thought process.

“At least you knew for certain.” Obviously, he didn’t heed the warning.

The wolf clenched his fists to abate his rage, feeling his nails elongate and slice into his palms as the urge to attack chomped at his resolve. He stamped it down quickly, claws retracting and hands healing just as quickly as they retreated. “Because you’re sitting on your mother’s grave, I won’t soil it by spilling your blood, but you better watch your mouth, Stilinski.” 

Stiles closed his eyes, grimacing as he thumped his head against the cement behind him. “I’m sorry.” He really didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t tell Derek that his mother wasn’t resting beneath them, that she was in a motel twenty miles away. Derek would hunt her down and threaten her, try to find out what soap opera reason she had to fake her death. If it wouldn’t result in harm coming to his mother’s well being, he might be tempted to let Derek get the answers for him. But he deflected instead. Or tried to, at least, but Derek decided it was share time before he could even open his mouth.

“The scent almost never goes away. You think it will, it starts to fade and then…”

“Someone lights a match–”

“And the sulfur takes you right back.”

Silence took over again after Derek shared and was able to relate to Stiles. That might qualify as the first sign of the apocalypse or hell freezing over.

“Why do you stay in that house then? It reeks.” Stiles hated that house for having always taken him back to that day at the wake. If it made him gag, a mere human, what could it be doing to a werewolf’s senses?

“It’s a reminder of why I do what I do. I could be part of a pack somewhere else, forgetting. However, my Uncle took my sister; Kate took my parents, my Aunts, an Uncle, my older twin siblings, a cousin. I stay in that house to remind myself that I’m still alive so that I can avenge ten of my family members.”

Stiles swallowed that answer roughly. “Will it help? When you kill Kate and Peter… do you think it’ll help you? Not your ghosts, but _you_.”

Derek paused, at a loss for an immediate answer as he scrutinized Stiles. “Short of getting them all back, nothing will ever help.”

The words hit Stiles hard. He had his Mom back. There were a lot of questions, problems, but he had his mother again. Alive and well. Derek still didn’t have anyone. His only relative, as far as Stiles knew, was a psychotic murderer hell bent on making Derek his subservient right hand or killing him if his refused.

“At least you’re building yourself a surrogate family – or pack, whichever.” Off Derek’s blank look, he elaborated. “You know, Brenna and Zane, Scott, me.” He said himself without thinking and immediately began to fumble over words to correct himself.

“Pack is just a notion. A pack is only a real pack if there’s an Alpha that they’ve all submitted to.” Derek explained, cutting off Stiles’ stuttering. The teen looked both relieved and dejected at the same time. “So when I become Alpha by default of killing Peter, you’re right: I will have my pack. The four of you.”

“You just said I’m right.” Stiles beamed. “Could you say it again so that I can record the proof on my phone?”

Derek narrowed his eyes while he scowled. Stiles took it as him trying not to smile which always equates a win in Stiles’ book.

The silence that followed once more was the rare sort of comfortable silence that didn’t feel awkward or like it needed to be filled, which Stiles always felt when he was with another person and it was quiet for longer than a breath.

He tore apart four more of the two dozen daisies, passing two to Derek, who merely held and twirled them between his fingertips. They sat opposite each other with their toes aligned, both with their knees drawn up towards their chests and arms stretched out to rest on them. Petals blew against and over their shoes as dusk began to change the feeling in the air. 

Stiles took the lull as an opportunity to reflect on the man across from him. The beta had opened up to someone – probably for the first time with someone who wasn’t his sister or seemingly comatose Uncle. He’d related to Stiles about losing a loved one gruesomely to fire. In Derek’s case, many loved ones. But it was all for naught because his mother was alive, negating the moment of bonding and making him feel like crap for misleading Derek.

Derek tensed suddenly, shoulders squaring, before standing in a single graceful movement. “I’ll give you two privacy. Make sure to leave before dark.”

“Right,” Stiles smirked, tilting his head up for a better view of Derek. “Cemetery plus nighttime equals vampires.”

Derek snorted, “No, dumbass.” He flung the daisies at Stiles’ head. “The rival wolves. Don’t forget, you were already attacked by one today. Let’s leave it to one rescue a day, alright?”

“Concerned?” Stiles asked smartly.

Derek didn’t give him a verbal response, choosing to roll his eyes and whack Stiles upside the head as he passed. It was an improvement on their usual physicality in their tentative friendship.

Stiles closed his eyes and rested his head against the warm cement behind him, letting the quiet envelop him. He tried to clear his mind – not an easy feat for Stiles – and relaxed into the wind and solitary of the graveyard.

He could feel everything slipping away as a need to nap tried to pull him in. It’d been an exhausting day. His breath was evening out and peace was crawling in when the sound of footsteps jerked him into alertness. He squinted up at the person haloed by the falling sun peaking through the tree.

“I need time.” He groaned, thumping his head back once more.

His mother sighed, “Time isn’t a luxury we have right now.” When he didn’t show any more signs of acknowledging her, she slowly descended until she was sitting next to him. “Ask me anything. I’ll try to answer honestly.”

Stiles thought on it for several long minutes. Everything he came up with just made him reexamine the situation and felt impossibly old at only seventeen years old. His life had become some cosmic joke. Werewolves, mothers faking their deaths, his senior year of high school… it was like the premise to a bad television show for the CW. 

“Who did we bury? Who are we sitting on top of? Who’s the person I’ve been visiting for eight years? You know, next month is the nine year anniversary. Dad and I have been trying to think of a way to get through the next year before the really tough one, the ten year anniversary. So if you hadn’t come back, who would it be that we’d been mourning for a decade this time next year?” It seemed to be the most appropriate question to ask, given where they were. Plus, Stiles needed a name to reassure his mind that this was real. Have her give him a name he could research, put weight behind her story that this was his mother and not some weird doppelganger.

“A Jane Doe was provided for authenticity.” She answered, her voice drawing out the sentence as she calculated the possible openings that the answer could bring.

“A Jane Doe was provided?” Stiles repeated, “Who are you?” He asked incredulously. 

“I’m still your mother. I’m still Natalie Stilinski. I just have a lot more secrets than the last time you saw me. The same can be said about you, though.”

He swallowed nervously, “Any secrets I have are outweighed by anything you’ve been hiding.”

“If you want answers, you have to come with me.” She stood, extending her hand down to her son.

“Now you’re a terminator.” His fists clenched, feeling the pressure course through his veins like electricity. “Why can’t you just tell me things right now instead of trying to buy yourself more time to come up with cleverly worded runarounds?”

When the anger fizzled out, he noticed that his mother was staring down at him with pride lighting her eyes and a smile tugging her lips. “Things are starting, my sweet little prince.” She caressed his cheek when he stood. “I promise that if you come with me now, I’ll explain everything.”

Stiles was hesitant, but the term of endearment from childhood ultimately softened him. He needed to understand what was happening more than anything. It’d been a long, emotional day, and he needed to see it through to the end.

Steeling his resolve, he slipped his hand into his mother’s. “Let’s go.”

Derek was but a shadow in the woods, lurking along the sparse line of trees as he kept an eye on the human of his pack. He had followed the Jeep to the vet’s office Scott worked at.

His nostrils flared and eyes narrowed. Scott wasn’t there and the office was closed. The scent of Henry Deaton was strong inside, along with two other figures. One was vaguely familiar and he quickly placed it to the boy who Stiles had recruited to hack for them before while searching for the identity of the Alpha. He was also Stiles’ friend and lab partner, who he’d ran into several times over the last eight months. The other person with him was female and their base scent was similar enough to deduce that they were related.

Stiles stepped from his Jeep, scanning the area nervously as his passenger exited too. Derek couldn’t see her or pick up a scent on the wind, and his hackles rose. Something was preventing him from scenting her.

With a final glare as the two entered the office, he turned and ran into the woods. It was starting.


	7. Chapter 6

Stiles had been apprehensive the whole ride to their destination. Especially when he realized what their destination was. His mother had led him to the vet’s office with the promise of answers.

He was observing the area, noting Scott’s bike missing but an additional SUV parked next to Deaton’s hybrid. It niggled in the back of his mind that he should recognize the car but was too preoccupied. His mother had promised where they were heading would give him the answers, but twenty more had already cropped up. His curiosity about the vet was back tenfold. The man had been avoidant for over eight months about the mountain ash and his knowledge of werewolves, and Derek had commanded them to leave it alone.

While that alone should’ve been a warning that they needed to know more, Scott and Stiles had backed off and let things be with bigger fish to fry as more werewolves tried to invade the town. 

Natalie told him to come with her as she opened the door, snapping Stiles from his musings. His stomach was nervous, twisting with each step he took. He was beginning to wish that he’d surreptitiously texted Scott about where he was going once he knew. This could be some sort of elaborate trick. He was the human, the physically weakest link to Derek’s rag tag pack – anyone smart enough would know to go through Stiles and a quick Google search would give them all they needed to manipulate him.

He wasn’t sure what to expect, but seeing Danny and his mother conversing with Deaton over coffee was the last thing he would’ve imagined waiting for him. It stopped him short, freezing halfway into the lobby. “What the hell?”

Danny and his mother, Elizabeth, stood with warm smiles. She and Natalie hugged while their sons stood staring at one another. Danny was staring awkwardly and Stiles was staring in bafflement. Deaton was first to step forward, smiling that calm smile that was more off-putting than anything was for the skittish Stiles. “Stiles,” he greeted, grabbing one of Stiles’ hands in both of his and pulling the teen further into the lobby.

Stiles’ apprehension rose considerably when Deaton managed to arrange himself behind Stiles to lock the door, effectively blocking the quickest escape route. “What’s going on?”

“Obviously you know Danny and his mother,” Deaton said as he finally moved away from the door, opting to stand between Natalie and Elizabeth. “We’re all here at your mother’s request to help you understand.”

“Understand what?” Stiles snapped, his patience finally wearing thin.

“There are things about our family that you don’t know.” His mother started nervously. “Elizabeth and I… we’re…”

“We’re witches, bro.” Danny interrupted Natalie’s stuttering to drop the bomb.

Stiles blinked one, two, three times before inhaling sharply. “You’re all insane. I’m leaving.” He turned towards the door with a stiff spine, hand curling around the deadbolt lock.

“I came back eight months ago because Deaton called and told me you exhibited signs that your powers were coming in.” Natalie spoke in a rush, trying to get it out in a breath before Stiles bolted. “They normally don’t until your eighteenth birthday. By all means, I should have another seven months before I have to have this conversation.” 

Stiles tried to think back. Eight months ago, they’d been fighting Peter, trying to make it out of the formal alive. Lydia still hadn’t woken up from the coma, its affects far reaching. Eight months ago, he’s met Brenna and Zane, had been trying to track down Scott to find Peter and Derek so that the betas could team together and attempt to kill the Alpha. It’d been here that he’d tracked Scott to, gotten so angry when his best friend wouldn’t come out, when Deaton wouldn’t let them through. He’d been so angry he even slammed his… fist into the counter and it’d broken. He flashed to another instance where Derek had shoved him angrily against his Jeep, anger had taken over him when the older man had threatened him, threatened to send his father wind chimes made from his bones. The window of his Jeep had imploded despite Derek only using the brute force of a human, not a werewolf, to get his point across, which by all means should’ve left the window in tact in normal circumstances.

He slowly took his hand from the lock, turning to face the four others in the room. His eyes glared into his mother’s, “You’ve had almost nine years to prepare for this so you better have one hell of an explanation other than the fact that I have _powers_.” Stiles said through gritted teeth. “Because that sounds insane.”

“No more insane than your best friend being a werewolf.” Natalie fired back.

Stiles opened his mouth to deny, eyes snapping from Elizabeth to Deaton and finally to Danny, none of whom seemed fazed by the revelation. He snapped his jaw closed, teeth aching with the force. “Answers. Now.” He demanded, sitting down in the closest lobby chair. His whole body was tight, muscles so tense he worried they might cramp up.

The adults in the room shared looks before a collective sigh came from the mothers as they all took a seat.

Natalie opened her mouth to begin, pausing to swallow before she delved in. “We know Scott is a werewolf because we’re… sort of born from the same fruit. There are certain genetic mutations in certain families. It’s to keep things balanced. To have a euphoric world is not possible. There has to be evil for every good. Yin and yang. Once the lycan mutation became active for the first time, so did a gene that we possess. We’ve been called many things through the centuries, but nowadays, you’d call them witches or, as in your case, warlocks. When there was no war and it seemed like most of the families from all the sides had gone extinct, those of us left became con-folk in travelling shows, tourist attractions.”

“Us? Who’s ‘us’?” Stiles wondered during a lull in the conversation. Natalie looked to Elizabeth, who opened her mouth in turn to pick up the explanation. “No.” Stiles cut off firmly. “No offense, but this is something my mother needs to explain to me.” He curled his fingers into tighter fists, the balls of tense muscles shaking under the strain before releasing them slowly to the repeat the process.

“Our family were gypsies and Elizabeth’s, Danny’s, were shamans.” Natalie finally said the words. She watched Stiles’ emotions roll across his face, his anger slowly building up until electricity seemed to crackle in the air. “Feel that?” She inquired with pride, “It builds with emotion. For the untrained, anger is the most effective.”

“It’s different with everyone though.” Danny interjected quickly, noting the pinched look on Stiles’ face. “Witches, gypsies, shamans, whatever you want to call it, we all have different triggers and aspects that we’re good at. It’s just about the person.”

Stiles swallowed. He wasn’t an angry person, never had been, but over the last few months… the last year almost since everything with Scott and the werewolves began to happen, he could feel something simmering underneath the surface. Some kind of odd rage. Was this the cause, the explanation? He didn’t like it, didn’t want it. If what they were telling him was true, he didn’t want it. 

“Anger’s not your official trigger,” Elizabeth hastened to add, “You’re not supposed to have your powers until you’re eighteen. It’s strange that you’re _both_ experiencing a power spike prematurely. We’ve never really seen it, or heard of it, before. Let alone by two people, in the same town, who have been friends? It’s strange.”

Deaton hummed in agreement, “And I think we can all agree that we’re familiar with all sorts of ‘strange’ at this point.” He murmured, “Your trigger won’t be fully decided until you’ve reached maturity. Until then, anything can and will affect your growing gift.”

Stiles felt all the blood rushing to his head, the room seesawing back and forth as everything tried to sink in at once. There were just some things that had to be too ridiculous. Derek had told him several things of the bump in the night variety were just myths. He’d researched until he was able to call bull just from the Google summary. Searching for ‘witches’ had brought up a lot about television shows and tween novel series’, nothing even remotely credible. 

“How do I get rid of it?” They were all surprised by the question, no one more so than Stiles himself. For so long, he’d wanted to be extraordinary. But faced with the possibility now, of having powers and responsibilities to them, not to mention the fear that maybe there were _witch hunters_ out there like the Argents hunted werewolves, he just wanted the multiple choice answers to getting rid of them.

“You don’t give it away. This is a gift. It’s been passed through our family for centuries. You will not just give up your birthright like that.” Natalie snapped her annoyance at her son.

“I can damn well do as I please.” He fired right back, “You’ve been lying to me and dad since day one about this. I’ve spent the last year trying to protect him from the supernatural crap in this town. I’ve gone to lengths to make sure he’s been protected only to find out now that because of you he’s been in more danger than I thought all along.”

“You mean Derek Hale, nephew of the Alpha who bit Scott.” Natalie snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s hardly capable of protecting your father from anyone that wants at him. He’s a puppy compared to an Alpha’s strength.”

“And what would you know? You faked your death and ran from your family like a coward. He’s not perfect, but when it counted, Derek was the one there to protect me and Scott, along with two other werewolves.” Stiles felt angered that his mother had to gall to judge the wolves. She didn’t even know them. Brenna risked her life to save his, Derek too when they’d first found out who the Alpha truly was. In his book, the wolves were more trustworthy than his mother. “I’m going to get rid of this so called birthright, and then you’re going to get the hell out of town. You don’t need to cause dad any more pain than you already have.”

“Hey!” Natalie bit out, her accent thickening, changing, “You do not talk to me that way, Aloyoshenka Stilinski! I am still your mother.” She clipped the words out in Russian.

He cringed internally at the use of his full name. It was his Papa’s name, but that didn’t make it any easier on a child in kindergarten trying to learn how to and memorize their name. Stilinski was bad enough. It took a moment for Stiles’ mind to translate the words into English. It was a language that she’d taught him when he was little, bringing him up with it as his second language, the language of her family. It’d been dead to him though for years, since before she died… left, whichever. He stumbled in his head for the right words to retort in, in Russian, “You’re a stranger in my mother’s clothing.” 

She swallowed harshly, her eyes twitching with the need to fill with tears, but she kept them at bay. “You’re still my son, whether you think of me as your mother or not.” She ended in Russian, before easily slipping back into English as the others simply stared at their exchange. “This _is_ your birthright.” She paused for a long moment after he scoffed, “Aloyoshenka. Do you know what your name means?” 

“It was Papa’s name.” Stiles said carelessly. He knew all about that, already.

“It was my Papa’s name too. The name is given to every first-born male in my family. The first-born male will get the most of the power, he’ll be the strongest. Aloyoshenka means ‘defend of mankind’. It is your birthright, your _destiny_ , to defend the weaker from things like werewolves.” Natalie put the final nail in that coffin. 

“This is too much.” Stiles said, vision dancing once again as he tried to sort through all the new information in his head. It wasn’t sinking in properly, it wasn’t digesting all the way. How was someone supposed to deal with being attacked by a werewolf, finding out their mother was alive and _a witch_ , and that he was supposedly destined to keep humanity safe from werewolves? In _one day_ , no less! “I can’t be here anymore.”

Stiles turned hastily, hands fumbling with the deadbolt as the shook from the stress. He needed to get out, but his fingers were slippery on the metal.

“Stiles, wait, please. You have to know about this. You can’t run and hide from it.”

Stiles felt the anger surge at her words, “Like you did?” He spat, turning from the door just before the bolt exploded apart in the doorframe. He looked back in shock at the fragmented metal, looking like a bullet had torn through it. The shock seeped in for a moment, knowing now without a doubt that he’d done that, his anger had, and pushed the door away from the frame to escape into the night. 

He got his keys in the ignition quickly, still trembling, before peeling out of the parking lot without a glance back.

For all that she _could_ do, Natalie couldn’t see into the shadows. They were plenty in the abandoned home, nothing but blackness throughout. She knew she wasn’t alone, however. He was using the shadows as cover to watch, stalk her movements while they also provided him a safety. He knew better than to mess with her. She’d taught him that lesson eight months ago.

She was fed up with him keeping her under his thumb. She’d let him, only because he was the strongest person in Beacon Hills that could protect her family. It’d killed her every day that she was away from them, but their protection mattered most. So she’d kept her mouth shut tightly, done was she was told, ran from the people she loved most in the world. All to keep them safe.

“They’re in danger with you back here.” He spoke, his anger deepening his voice as he paced through the darkness.

“He is my son!” She fired angrily, “You didn’t think word of Beacon Hills would travel down the vine? You’re not nearly that naïve.”

“Word that you’re here will travel just as fast down that vine. It probably already has. They will come. They’ll come and they’ll kill your husband for revenge, kill Stiles for _fun_.” He stepped forward finally and the annoyance she felt deep within herself when she was near the werewolf flared to life. Looking at him enraged her, made her sleeping powers want to spark to life and fire off. 

Her glare pinned him as she made to leave the house, but when she passed by him for the door, he grabbed her by the crook of her arm and forced her farther back into the room. It only made her angrier, stepping right back into his personal space, glaring into the glowing blue eyes. “You’d be smart to mind yourself in front of me, Hale. I’m staying, which means the last thing you want is to be on my bad side.” Once the threat sunk in, she took a step away from Derek. “ _I_ will protect my family. And you will stay the hell away from my son.”

This chapter is considerably later than I thought it'd be. That's in part because I realized that after this chapter, I only have two more written that are more interludes than anything. So I'll post one this week, probably Wednesday and then one the following Monday, and then it might be a week or two before there's anything else. I go home the weekend of the 18th/19th and will have more time to write after that. :)

Hope y'all enjoyed this one and that it answered some questions for you! More to come.


	8. Interlude 1

The whimpers of a dog filled the air. The high pitched sounds of pain slowly began to morph into human groans. 

Peter watched from his perch as the Betas took turns gaining their strength, learning how to move against the sole Omega of the pack. He was eight men and women strong, but he needed more. He was stronger with them, but he’d barely made it out from underneath his niece’s pack alone. He wasn’t sure how this group could fair against three trained Betas and another who made up with tenacity where his training lacked. Derek had been smart into signaling the human into bringing in Zane and Brenna as reinforcements. It had been he who had underestimated their strengths.

He’d chosen more suitable candidates for his pack this time, in comparison to Scott. The teen was too lovesick with his humans. These people had no one, were looking for betterment. They were eager to do _anything_ for him, as witnessed below with taking the sole teen of the pack within an inch of healing ability. He’d be out ‘til sunrise, unless Peter decided to put him out of his misery.

He’d sworn to himself no Omegas, they sucked more power than gave it, but the kid was proving to be the most useful member of the pack after all. An eighteen year old runaway who had all but pleaded for the bite. He’d been on his own since thirteen and wasn’t making an inroads towards a better life off the streets. When Peter had promised him a life better than the streets, he hadn’t hesitated or asked what that life would be. 

He was been tempted to throw the boy away once it was clear he’d be the weakest link, practically still human when he made it through the bite, but he’d been a useful punching bag. It gave him the idea that he’d be useful to his Betas, once he made them. And it was true. Plus there was an added bonus of his willowy build, his shaved head, his resemblance to a certain human in Beacon Hills.

He would never underestimate Derek and his ‘pack’, not a second time. They would join him or they would die. He mostly hoped for the latter half, even though having a subservient family member in his pack would be useful to his strength. But Derek was too defiant, too eager for revenge for his sister, too hungry for the Alpha title that he thought rightfully belonged to him with Laura gone.

He felt the residual anger from that day eight months ago. It reminded him of a time long ago when he’d fallen, not long before Kate had weaseled her way into Derek’s eye. His own obsession, his need to be the more powerful of the hierarchy to his family. He’d lost then. To a woman, no less. Much like his nephew, he let a woman fester under his skin until her disease spread and murdered.

He looked at the Omega, crying into his wounds in a corner of the basement, while his hands shook with anger and his nails grew into claws. The Omega was trying to shrink into the shadows so that no one would come for him from his brutal pack. 

Omegas were easy enough to find, he supposed as he advanced with a smile towards the boy. After all, it was his nephew’s birthday. He should send him a present.

I'm so sorry that this is really late. Two weeks ago, my nephew was rushed to a hospital upstate and diagnosed with a heart condition and my family was just thrown into shambles. Then I came home from where I was and got hit hard with the flu, which just had me doing nothing. All's well now though, and I'll be posting the second interlude either tonight or tomorrow, while I work on writing the next full chapter. 


	9. Interlude 2

Derek stepped from the woods at the same time Brenna pulled up in her Charger. His agitation rose, nerves still shot from when Natalie had visited him the night before, as she stepped from the driver’s side. Zane followed out the passenger’s.

“What do you want?” He demanded, throwing down the dead rabbit he’d taken his frustration out on. 

“We swept the town. There’s no hint of Kate.” Zane stated, huffing out his tension as he sat on the warm hood of Brenna’s car. “We know Scott said that Stiles was sure it wasn’t Kate, but we wanted to make sure.”

“It’s not Kate that’s in town.” Derek responded firmly, biting his tongue on giving anymore than that. They didn’t need to know about Natalie. It would put too much spotlight on him and how he knew before Stiles told him. Because Stiles hadn’t, possibly wouldn’t. He couldn’t be the one to blow that whistle. 

“Then who is it that had Stiles so spooked?” Zane questioned while Brenna halted. She was twitching, turning around and looking through the trees, looking toward the house. He turned to her, gauging her reactions, once he noticed she wasn’t by his side. “What’s up?”

“Do you smell that?” She asked, taking a few hesitant steps towards the house. 

“What?” Zane asked, becoming more alert as he started to scent the air.

“Something’s dead. Something more than that rabbit.” Brenna informed as they all advanced on the house, Derek taking point as he too began to scent the air. There was something in there. Something fresher than the death that had already occurred in the Hale manor.

“This is property of the town. Maybe someone came up here to commit a good old fashioned murder because it’s abandoned?” Zane questioned hopefully, but there were too many careless tracks. Tracks that reeked of werewolf. And Peter.

Derek was the first in the house, shifted in his rage even though the scent was hours old. He’d been gone since first light and it was already mid afternoon. Anyone that had trekked through the house with purpose was already long gone. 

Except for the gift that was awaiting Derek in Laura’s bedroom. He could smell the stench wiping away the last traces of Laura’s lemongrass infused soap and apple shampoo. It was the last vestige of his sister he had left and his Uncle had made sure to taint it.

He took the stairs two at a time, trailed by Brenna and Zane, imagining all the ways he could kill his Uncle for the cruelty he was bestowing on his nephew. Those images only became more vivid upon seeing what had been left for him.

The boy was younger than the three Betas, probably no more than eighteen or nineteen. He was naked, his throat slashed open deeply to show muscle and bone, a puddle of blood staining the wood darker than it already had been. It was one of the few rooms that had been untouched by the fire and years of abandonment. That was no longer the case.

“He’s Peter’s.” Brenna stated, coughing against the putrid scent of death assailing her heightened senses, trying to cover it with one of her gloved hands.

“Yeah, but why is he here?” Zane asked, “Peter’s been gone hours. Why drop him off here and leave? He would’ve had the element of surprise. He would’ve been able to attack us, if he has a pack. I smell at least four other wolves aside from Peter and this kid. Why dump a body and leave?”

“To prove he can.” Derek growled, his chest heaving as he dragged in harsh breaths. “He’s building a pack. A strong one. This was an Omega that he was using to train the others.” He paused, sending a look towards Brenna as he cautiously continued, “Like the old packs.”

“Son of a bitch!” Brenna shuddered in repulsion and anger, turning around and punching her fist into the wall. Concrete cracked like wood underneath the force of her rage.

Derek and Zane watched her for a minute as she warred with shifting, cracking her neck as she attempted to control the urge to give into the pacing animal within her. Both knew she despised the laws of old packs, the way they hunted, recruited, lived. She was aware all too well of that. 

“You okay?” Zane asked her when she seemed to have calmed herself enough. Zane’s concern for what it would bring up for her was palpable to the wolves; even Derek felt a trickle of pity.

“Fine.” She responded tightly, contradicting herself with her tense posture and gritted teeth. “So, is that the message? That he _does_ have a pack. That he can get to you on your own turf. What else? There’s gotta be more with Peter. It can’t just be that.”

“It’s not.” Derek toed his boot underneath the body, keeping his balance as he forced the boy over onto his stomach. Across his back, his skin frayed apart with a message.

“Sick bastard.” Zane muttered under his breath, shaking his head and turning away. “He’s just a kid. There was no reason to do that.”

“He’s an Omega. If Peter’s going by old pack laws, that means that this kid was there to be used for training and then discarded when his Alpha got bored enough. He apparently wanted to send a message and this boy was the best way to do it.” Brenna crouched next to the body, absentmindedly stroking the boy’s buzzed head. “Not to mention, he has similarities to a certain human we all know and protect. That surely factored into his decision to do… _this_.”

Derek had been trying to avoid the similarities between the Omega and Stiles. However, with Brenna shoving it into his face like that, it was hard to. He had no doubt that Peter had done that deliberately. Stiles was a touchy subject for so many reasons, and this was just his Uncle’s way of clawing at the surface of Derek’s resolve. 

“We need to get rid of the body.” Zane was the one to voice the thought no one else was willing to. It seemed wrong to. 

“I can’t.” Brenna said, stepping away from the body. Her voice was choked and she seemed to have trouble breathing. “I’ll head back into town and make sure that Peter didn’t visit anyone while he was here. Just… I don’t know, I’ll meet up with you when it’s done.” She was out of the room before either men could protest or agree either way.

“We’ll take him to the edge of town, far enough away from here that the Sheriff won’t come looking, but close enough within town limits that the next county over won’t be sniffing. We’ll dump him; make it look like a cougar attack.” Derek turned his emotions off as he looked at the kid. He couldn’t let it get to him, had to stop picturing Stiles’ face on the mutilated body. 

Zane sighed, trying to get over his disgust at the take ahead of him. “We’ll need to get rid of the message.” The two men seemed to share a look, neither wanting to do what needed to be done. 

“I’ll do it when we drop him, spill more blood to make it look like it happened there.” Derek said, resigned to the task. He knew though that if they didn’t, Sheriff Stilinski would be right on his doorstep.

Because clawed into the boy’s skin were three simple words. 

_Happy birthday, nephew._

  



	10. Chapter 7

The birds were chirping and the sun was warm on his face as Stiles slowly returned to reality from his dream state. 

He immediately hated the day. 

It was weird that things should be so happy when everything was so horrible yesterday. Not just the weather, but also the occurrences in general. Everything that had happened from waking up and being late for school, getting reamed by Finstock, being chased by a rabid werewolf, finding out his mother was alive and had faked her death, to finding out he’s a freakin’ witch or something weird like that… it was all too much to process for having happened in a single day. 

He didn’t want to wake up and find out what the sequel was going to be like. 

Especially when he knew that it was only a matter of time before he had to look his father in the eye and lie by omission. His father wouldn’t be any the wiser that his wife was still alive and had been harboring a huge secret from the both of them for as long as they’d known her. But _he_ knew now, which means that by not telling his dad, he was automatically lying to him even if he didn’t realize it. His mother had told him that it wasn’t safe to tell his father… but he couldn’t stand the idea of lying to him more than he already had been for the last year.

Stiles craned his neck, reaching for his cell phone to check the time. He’d slept ‘til mid afternoon. His father’s shift had ended half an hour ago, so he was due home any minute. He sighed, ready to thump his phone back down onto the nightstand when it vibrated in his hand. Speak of the devil.

“Hey dad.” He said as greeting, biting his lip until it throbbed to keep from blurting everything that had happened yesterday. 

“Hey kiddo. I caught a case so I won’t be home for awhile. If I’m not home by dinner, use your gas money for food and I’ll give you some more when I get home, okay?” 

Stiles’ chest clenched like it always did when he knew his dad was going off to chase a case. Anything could happen that could prevent his father from coming home. “Okay. Be safe, dad.” He tried not to get choked up, knowing this could be their goodbye if something went wrong. “Love you.” 

“Love you too, son.” 

And that was it. That was how they finished their call. It was simple enough, but for a cop’s kid, it was always the potential final conversation. He hated it. He wondered if as a witch or warlock or whatever it was that Danny had called them, if he could put some sort of… spell on his father to protect him, keep him safe and coming home.

Scrambling out of bed, Stiles headed for the loose floorboard underneath his desk chair. He picked and pried until the wood popped out and he could reach into the hidden cubby to pull out his stash of not-quite-legal police equipment that he’d pilfered from his father over the years. 

_…419, possible cougar attack, please respond. Again, all units, please respond to the Beacon Hills Preserve, location…_

Stiles turned off the scanner, wracking his brain to remember what a 419 was. His breath caught. It was a dead human body… and if they thought it was a possible cougar attack… werewolves. He crawled across the floor clumsily, fumbling for his phone with twitching fingers as he unlocked and scrolled for the one person that could answer his questions right now.

“Stiles Stilinski, I swear to all that’s good in this world that if you’re calling me with some hare-brained question or scheme…”

“Marjorie!” Stiles interrupted his favorite dispatch woman. “This isn’t some crank call. I just need to know that what my dad’s going into isn’t dangerous.”

There was a lengthy pause followed by great sigh heaved on the other end of the call, “Don’t worry sweetie. It’s another animal attack. We have all the units dispatched and animal control also. Your dad’s just there to oversee everything because it’s close to the county lines. The caller said that it wasn’t a fresh kill, said he was some sort of hunter, so I doubt the cougar’s still in the area.”

“Thanks Marjorie.” Stiles numbly ended the call. He didn’t feel any better about the situation. 

Keywords had sent his heart racing: animal attack, hunter, cougar. He was taken back to the investigation into Laura Hale’s death. This wasn’t any standard animal attack. Could it have been Argent? A message from Kate? There were more questions now, which seemed to be the theme of the past twenty four hours. 

The doorbell jarred him from his worrying thoughts, confusion replacing the worry almost instantly. It wouldn’t be Scott or Derek because they preferred the window. His mother wouldn’t be coming because she had promised to give him some space and couldn’t know his father’s work schedule. He wasn’t sure who to be expecting as he slowly went down the stairs. 

He definitely wasn’t expecting to open the door and find Brenna standing there. She honestly would’ve been the _last_ person he would’ve guessed. He might’ve even put a newly awoken Lydia showing up on his doorstep in a disheveled hospital gown above Brenna. “I thought all werewolves’ preferred method of entrance were windows.” He said sarcastically, taking in her agitated appearance. “This is about the body in the woods, isn’t it?”

She looked surprised momentarily, “Yeah. Derek and Zane were getting rid of it. I wanted to come and warn you. Peter dumped an Omega in Derek’s house as a message. I’ve been sweeping the town for any scent trace of him or his pack and it doesn’t seem like they stuck around. He’s long gone from town.”

A part of Stiles relaxed. “Thanks. My dad’s overseeing the investigation. I was worried.” He stepped aside to let Brenna in. “Are you okay? You look… affected.” He wasn’t sure how else to put it. In the months that he’d known Brenna, it had been difficult to get a read on her. She was sort of like Derek in that aspect. Very closed off, never seemed to show too much emotion or reveal too much. She did seem… softer around Stiles though. Almost protective of him.

“You know, you remind me of my brother.” She surprised them both by stating that.

“Wow.” Stiles didn’t know what to say. “Uh… thanks?” She’d never shared anything personal like that with him before.

“I haven’t seen him in seven years, since I was… turned.” Brenna seemed a bit more hesitant now in the things she was saying, pausing and calculating the words she was speaking. “The pack that turned me is still out there looking for me. It’s too dangerous to go and see my family or to stay in one place for too long or to even keep my name.”

“I thought Laura was your pack, your Alpha.” Stiles responded, sitting himself on the arm of the couch as he listened to the new details of how different werewolves live. Derek still refused to share too much with him because he was human. Though… were witches considered human? 

“I chose that.” Brenna shared, “I couldn’t contribute to her strength though because I’m still bound to the wolf that turned me, same with Zane and his creator. Luckily, the Alpha that turned me can’t siphon off my energy if I’m not close to him. The farther I run and stay away from him, the weaker that bond gets.”

“You and Zane weren’t turned by the same Alpha?” He’d just assumed that their closeness meant that they were pack.

“No. Zane and I found each other not long after I left the pack that took me.” She stiffened at the slip of the words and Stiles opted not to question them when she was being so forthcoming with other information. “Speaking of, that’s a story for another time, though.” She smiled tightly, angling herself towards the door. “I’d better go. I need to go pick Zane up from Derek’s.”

Stiles stood, following her the short distance to the door, “Hey Brenna?”

“Yeah?” She turned on the porch, indulging Stiles’ inquisitive tone.

“Your Alpha… he wasn’t a good guy, was he? He was like Peter, right?”

Brenna’s whole body seemed to still until she reflexively tightened her hands into fists, the leather of her gloves moving noisily against the encased flesh. “He was much, much worse than Peter, Stiles. There are packs out there that practice laws from centuries ago. Laws that are inhumane and some of the cruelest things that you couldn’t even imagine.”

Stiles swallowed. Worse than Peter? Much, _much_ worse than Peter? He wasn’t sure he’d thought such a thing could exist. “Will you kill him?”

Her smile split her face, adding a deadly edge to her beautiful features. “One day I will.”

“And then you’ll go back to see your family?” He didn’t really want her to leave. He felt safer with her and Zane on their side, knew that where she went so would Zane. 

Her smile faded though, “I miss them every day, you know? I know they exist, I know they are out there living their lives and growing… I’m probably an Aunt by now. But you know, that pack is out there, Peter’s out there, Kate’s out there, hunters in general are out there and I’m, _we’re_ all, on their radar simply because I was strong enough, or stupid enough, not to die after being ripped apart by a werewolf. Because of that, I can never, ever see them again. They can’t even know I’m still alive. They’re safer thinking that I’m dead.”

Stiles felt the sadness of her fate settle heavily on his chest. He couldn’t imagine never seeing his father again because of the danger he could put him in. But that’s what he was doing by existing now – because his mother had neglected to tell him of his so called birthright. It just made him want to get rid of it even more. “Well, I’ll be here until you have to move on again. I might not be your actual brother, but I’m just as annoying as one, so…” He let it hang in the air, not sure where he was going with it other than wanting to give her some comfort.

Her breath hitched, body rocking forward and then backward uncertainly for a moment before she reached forward to embrace Stiles. He was surprised, taking a moment before wrapping his arms around her back in return. He’s pretty sure it’s the first physical contact they’ve had where it wasn’t a life or death situation. 

“Thank you.” She whispered, pulling away. She looked at him momentarily, longing for her old life – her human life – evident as she tried to give him a small smile. It seemed like Brenna was ready to crack at any moment though, and with a final tightlipped smile, she turned tail and ran to her car. Figuratively on the tail part, though.

Stiles didn’t even get to ask her if it was a werewolf thing that said they all had to be so warm that it made his skin itch. Even with Scott. It was kind of annoying.

He was closing the front door when the phone in his pocket went off, tickling his butt cheek like crazy. He thrust forward under the strange vibrations. When he read the screen, he wondered if he was sending out psychic vibes for people to call him. First his dad, now Scott. “Hey bud.” 

“Dude. Your mother is scary,” was the greeting he got from Scott. “She knew I was a werewolf man. How the hell did she know that?”

“It’s a long story. One that I’ll tell you about later, okay? Yesterday was way too much to deal with. Being chased by werewolves, my mother being alive, finding out that I have some sort of birthright, destiny thing… I need to process.”

“Birthright? What the hell?”

“Like I said, later.” Stiles began to slowly climb the stairs, intent on getting back into his room and his bed and sleeping the rest of the daylight away. His legs were exhausted and his back ached, energy slipping from him quickly. “Look, I’m more concerned about my dad than my mother being back from the dead, okay? Brenna just told me that Peter dumped a body at Derek’s and they had to move it. My dad’s at the faux crime scene now.”

“Okay, man. We’ll deal with your Mom later. I’ll go visit my Mom at the hospital and bring her lunch, see if anything’s come in about the body. If your dad’s there, I’ll text you to let you know he’s okay.” 

Stiles was surprised by Scott’s initiative, but pleased. “Alright, thanks. Tell her I said hi.” 

“Hey, we’ll figure things out about your Mom and whatever she’s said about your birthright, okay?” 

“Okay. Later bro.” Stiles was hanging up his phone as he entered his room. He was contemplating just face planting into his pillows, but the breeze brushing against his cheeks gave him pause. He hadn’t opened his window. 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Brenna had left and she’d said that Peter and his wolves had left too, plus he’d just gotten off the phone with Scott. That only left one person who would visit him through his window who had super hearing and had probably just heard the entire conversation he’d had with Scott, including that his mother was alive.

“Derek.” He greeted, opening his eyes to spot the agitated werewolf perched against his computer desk. 

This was not going to end well.


	11. Chapter 8

“Look,” Stiles started nervously, raising his hands in front of him as if they’d have a chance in hell at stopping the werewolf. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t exactly lie his way out of this situation. Not only had Derek more than likely heard his side of the conversation, but Scott’s as well. Not to mention werewolves were excellent human – or… non-human? – lie detectors. 

He was officially screwed.

“Your mother’s alive?” Derek intoned, no hint of what he was thinking anywhere in his posture, face, voice. It irked Stiles.

“Technically, yes. She’s breathing, alive, still with us.” Stiles said, jitters getting the best of him. “But, I mean… she faked her death, okay? I don’t know the whole story, I’m _freaking_ out, and I’d really, _really_ appreciate it if you could not kill her or interrogate her or whatever before I find out the whole truth, alright?”

Derek blinked. Blinked! That was his entire reaction. Stiles wanted to throw something at his head. “Is she a werewolf?”

“No.” Stiles answered immediately.

Derek studied him for a moment before nodding, “Fine. Deal with your petty human, soap opera family drama on your own time, but right now I need your help.”

“You want me to shelve my ‘family drama’ in which my mother is seemingly back from the grave except she wasn’t in the grave, to help with yours because your Uncle is psychotic and leaving you dead bodies as a birthday present?”

“Yes.” Derek growled through his clenched teeth.

“Okay then.” Stiles replied simply, elbowing his way around Derek to sit at his desk. It was a tense minute while his laptop took its time booting up, then another minute that felt like an eternity as he waited for the system to load everything without lagging when he opened the browser. Once it had, he was poised to start searching but came up blank. “What am I supposed to be looking for, exactly?”

“Killings that are being chalked up to ritualistic or animal attacks. Within a two hundred mile radius.” Derek said, bracing one hand around the back of the computer chair and his other palm down on the computer desk. He stared intently at the computer screen as Stiles began to use his skills. They weren’t as refined as Danny’s, but being a cop’s son taught him a few things. 

“Two hundred miles, got it.” Stiles mumbled, watching as result after result of gruesome deaths popped up on his screen as links. Little more than blurbs left for these lives and he felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach as they whittled through the options. They threw out more than they kept, leaving about half a dozen possibilities. “Now what?” Stiles questioned an hour into their search.

“Search for runaways, same distance.”

Stiles took a breath, fingers stilling over the keys. “Derek, runaways, the kind that Peter would go after, are more than likely kids who won’t have anyone looking for them. I mean, Brenna said something earlier that stuck. She can’t ever see her family ‘cause that’ll put all of them in danger. Peter’s too smart to have a pack with familial ties like Scott, like… you. He views it as weakness.”

The muscle in Derek’s jaw jumped as he absorbed the theory, hands fisting as he pulled away and turned his back on Stiles. Tension locked up his body as he paced shortly. 

“There’s also a pattern here. The killings that you kept, they’re all heading south, towards Beacon Hills. Add in the Omega dumped in your house, I think it’s safe to say that Peter’s declaring that he’s coming home. Especially to reclaim his territory.” 

Derek turned, staring at Stiles with an unreadable expression. It was almost scrutinizing with a hint of… something that Stiles couldn’t quite place. It made him flush under the gaze, looking away and fiddling with the hem of his shirt nervously. He couldn’t tell if it was a good stare or an I’m-going-to-rip-your-throat-out stare.

“Why are your mother’s pictures still up if you’re mad at her?” Derek questioned and when Stiles looked up in confusion at the sudden change in topic, he saw the werewolf standing at his bookcase that was filled with frames of his mother from ten years ago. 

“I…” Stiles didn’t really have an answer. He hadn’t thought on it. Sure, he was angry, but he hadn’t had time to just stop and think on what the appropriate response was supposed to be. Was he supposed to throw a tantrum upon seeing them and chuck them at the walls? Was he supposed to hug them to his chest and mourn all over again? He didn’t have the first idea what he was supposed to be doing. A year ago, it wouldn’t have been every day that a supernatural entity entered his life to shake it up. Then Scott was bitten and now his mother’s alive and he’s a witch.

“I don’t know.” Stiles answered finally, raw honestly coating the three simple words. “I love her. I’m mad, so mad, but she’s my Mom. If your Mom did something like that, would you throw them out? Break them? Or leave them?”

Derek stared thoughtfully at one of the pictures, the one of Stiles and his mother at Glass Beach, before picking up the frame. He looked down at it, holding it gently. “Sometimes people do things that others won’t like in order to protect them, to save them.” 

Stiles was almost unable to make out the words because Derek spoke so quietly, but his mind was able to fill in the blanks on the mumbled words. His brow furrowed. Something tickled at the back of his brain. Something that Brenna had said. Or _hadn’t_ said. “Like lying to Scott about killing Peter being his cure for humanity?”

Derek looked up in surprise, the emotion fleeting. “You’re too damn smart for your own good sometimes.” There was a threatening edge to the words, but Stiles smiled smugly. 

It took him a moment to get passed the unintentional compliment, before the smile turned into a scowl. “Please. That line was complete bull. I really only just realized it but I’ve suspected since the beginning. Brenna was talking to me about how she’ll kill the Alpha that turned her one day. When I asked if she’d go back to her family, she said no. But if she killed the wolf that turned her, she’d be human right? They’d be safe. Unless that’s a crock of lies.”

Derek sighed – although because this was Derek, it came out more as a throaty growl – as he replaced the picture frame delicately in its original spot. “I told Scott that because…”

“Because he’s an idiot. A loose cannon. There was no telling what he would do unless he had an ultimate goal to focus on and his focus was becoming human so that he could be with Allison, so you gave him that. Trust me dude, I know. People think _I’m_ the one with ADD, but I mostly use Adderall to keep me from sleeping.” The reason went unspoken, both thinking back to their conversation in the graveyard about bodies burnt to a crisp.

Derek stared for a moment, unsure on what to do, what to say, feeling thrown for a loop in the conversation. He’d come here to find out about Peter’s pack, try and pinpoint how many he might have. But once again, he was learning more and more about Stiles and the enigma that he was. He was finding himself in a difficult position with each passing moment as the weight of all the lies piled into the room.

Derek headed for the window, pausing as he stared out at the still afternoon. “You do what you have to do, lie when you have to, even kill when necessary, and hope that all will be forgiven in the end. It’s all to protect your pack.” He sent one last look at Stiles over his shoulder, before he was out the window, leaving the baffled teenager to ponder the interaction.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile! I got into a different fandom and life got in the way, so this chapter remained half finished. But with the epicness of this season, all of my Teen Wolf feels need to get out, so I'm writing a bunch of TW stories right now. Hoping to get this wrapped up in the next couple of months to move onto the third one.

It was weird for them to be sitting in a house, to suddenly have roots. It wasn’t something Brenna could remember having since before she was taken from home. She wasn’t sure Zane had even ever had any. It was an unspoken rule between the two of them to not talk about their lives before they were turned. It worked for them. Everything before their fate was chosen for them seemed inconsequential when they were running from hunters and packs and fighting for their lives.   
  
But now they were renting a two bedroom split-level in Beacon Hills suburbia and the itch between her shoulder blades was intensifying as she stared at the butter cream colored house with green trim. It was idyllic as a starter up for a family. The couple next door – elderly, sweet, extraordinarily human without the trace scent of gunpowder or wolfsbane thankfully – already assumed that she and Zane were newlyweds, starting their life together. It was easier to let them assume than to correct.  
  
Zane was enjoying how uncomfortable it made Brenna, slinging an arm around her shoulders and leading her into the house with a jaunty wave at the observers watering their lawn. Seriously, who actually waters their lawn themselves?  
  
Brenna shrugged him off as soon as they were inside the house, trying not to choke on the scents that still clung to a renovated house – sawdust and paint fumes, carpet cleaner and wood shine. “I don’t like this.” She said for the umpteenth time.  
  
“Tough.” Zane responded automatically, used to the argument as he walked over to their four duffle bags that made up everything they owned aside from Brenna’s car. “We’re gonna be here awhile. We need ground that we can defend better than that motel room.” One bag of clothes for each and then a bag each of weapons and meticulous journals. “We should give one of these to Stiles, see if he could come up with something that might help us figure out Peter’s master plan.”  
  
Brenna snatched the book from Zane’s hand. “Not this one. Never this one.” Her fingers curled tightly around the worn leather of the handmade journal. She’d spent hours sewing together the pages to the leather, her fingers bleeding and staining the pages even as they healed. Being the daughter of a book restorer came in handy. It was the one piece of herself she truly had left.  
  
Zane’s gaze softened as he noticed the book he’d been brandishing during his suggestion. “Of course not. It was just the first one I grabbed.” It was the journal that described the pack laws of the werewolves that she would forever be enslaved to.   
  
She scowled at him as he went back to rifling through their bags, occasionally pulling out and stowing away weapons so that they were within reach. Zane was too well adjusted with being a werewolf for Brenna’s taste. She still hated everything about herself and what she was, preferring to use steel and bullet instead of claw and teeth to take down enemies. The less she used of her beast, the better.   
  
“Fact of the matter is though, Bren, you’re the closest we have to understanding what Peter might do next. Derek will know enough, but you have first hand experience with these pack laws because of…” He trailed off when her eyes flashed, just like they always did when her past was brought up.   
  
“Then you can tell Derek. You know enough too. I’ve told you things.” And she had, things to keep him alert and on his toes, alive, in case they ever encountered a pack during their travels that still practiced the archaic laws.  
  
“But you lived it.” Zane hedged, eyes lingering on her arms where the gloves covered every inch of skin from the ends of her fingers to elbow where her shirt covered the rest.  
  
“I’m not doing this. I’m not going back there, Zane. I’ve ran from there for the last five years and I’m not doing it again.” Her tone didn’t quiver, didn’t plead with him to drop it like anyone else’s would in her situation. It was final, a decision that she was making for all of them to refuse to go back through it.  
  
Zane felt his stomach clench. He knew in the long run, no matter how long he’d known Brenna or how long they ran together, he’d never know just how deep the scars ran below the surface. He’d never know exactly what her Alpha had done for the three years she was captive. The wolf inside him paced restlessly, feeling protective of her, wanting to kill and tear apart the person that left a stench of burned flesh and sorrow around her aura. His nostrils flared, fingers curling in fists as he tried to abate the urges, tried to put the wolf to rest.  
  
“I want to burn him like he burned you.” He growled, eyes stuck to her arms. He’d seen the horrors of her uncovered flesh only once and both had made sure never to let it happen again.  
  
“You know the plan, Zane. We kill the pack, I kill him and it ends. For all of us.”  
  
Zane didn’t like that plan. That plan ended with Brenna committing suicide so that there wasn’t another Alpha.   
  
Which then left Zane alone.   
  
Again.  
  


* * *

  
  
Allison could feel the tension crawling across her skin. Even from her perch by the window, she could hear her parents fighting downstairs. She’d been banished to her room for the duration of their meeting with a friend. The woman had left ten minutes prior and Allison’s hand had been wrapped around her doorknob when the yelling broke out.  
  
It was becoming a frequent event in the Argent household. They tried to shelter her from it, much like they’d tried to shelter her from everything else, but she could still hear the words drift up and over the cold marble. She could make out that her mother thought her father was growing weak in their missions, that he was too lenient on the werewolves that invaded Beacon Hills, that they should all be eradicated. That working with this woman was wrong, was dangerous, her power was unpredictable and she should be put down too.  
  
She longed for the times of ignorance, before she knew her father was a hunter of supernatural creatures and that her first love was incidentally one of them. Wished for when she could close her eyes and pretend not to see the strain of the double life on her family, when they could act like normal people because for all she was aware of, they were.  
  
The sound of glass breaking in the kitchen was the final straw. She couldn’t stand the suffocating tension anymore. Hastily grabbing her bag, a jacket, and her car keys, she swept out of her room. Her hair bounced behind her as she took the steps quickly, stomach jumping with it as she got closer and closer to her parents in the kitchen.   
  
She was about to shout out to them that she was leaving to see Lydia out of courtesy when she heard a name that apparently belonged to the woman who’d been here. Something about it set her nerves even more on edge when she saw her father stomping away from her mother.   
  
Chris paused when he saw her, Victoria staring over his shoulder at the shaken look on their daughter’s face.  
  
“I’m going to go visit Lydia.” Allison said quietly, taking a couple of steps backwards as if waiting for them to explode at her like they’d been doing to one another. When no protests came, just buzzing silence, she turned quickly and fled.   
  
She was halfway down the street before she redirected her route from the hospital to Scott’s house. There was something about the woman, about her name, that was setting bells off in her head with familiarity. Like something she’d heard about in passing but couldn’t be sure of. She’d never seen the woman with her parents before, not that she could remember, so it had to be linked to Beacon Hills.  
  
 _Outside. Need to talk._ She texted him when she was pulling up. She parked at the curb, nervously watching Ms McCall’s car as if her father was about to jump out of the trunk and renege on any sort of agreement he may have with the wolves because she was sitting in front of Scott’s house. She jumped when the passenger door opened, her seatbelt digging painfully into her shoulder and chest because of the movement.   
  
“Is everything okay?” Scott asked, looking worriedly as his nostrils flared.  
  
She hated that he could sense her emotions. “I don’t know. A woman just left my house and then my parents got into a huge fight. They’ve been fighting a lot lately, but my mother was saying how this woman was unpredictable and her power was dangerous and that she should be put down like the werewolves.”  
  
Scott paled, “What did she look like?”   
  
“That’s the thing. Really familiar. I’ve never seen her before though. I took a picture though.” Allison pulled out her cell phone, scrolling through the settings until she found the picture. It was a zoomed in shot, slightly blurry because of that, from when she’d been spying from her window. Handing the phone over to Scott,  she saw Scott pale when he looked at the picture, his mouth dropping open in shock. “What’s wrong, do you know who that is?”  
  


* * *

  
  
Stiles spun round and round and round in the computer chair, staring up at the popcorn ceiling and groaning. This is the last place he wanted to be and doing absolutely the last thing he wanted to be doing. He’d rather be trapped in his Jeep with Peter Hale and Kate Argent arguing the pros and cons of hunters and werewolves living peacefully together.   
  
“Focus, Stilinski.” Danny snapped his fingers above his head, drawing them back slowly and watching amusedly as Stiles followed them like a puppy. “We’re here to learn how to control this.”  
  
“Why?” He groaned, “If I’d known you meant magic when you said study and not evil Harris’ chemistry exam, I wouldn’t have invited you in and gave you one of my Hot Pockets.”  
  
“It doesn’t count when you ate two and then half of mine, so shut it.” Danny sat on the corner of Stiles’ bed, bracing his hands on his knees as he focused on Stiles. He smiled triumphantly when Stiles stopped spinning. He looked confused, twisting and bending in the chair but the coils refused to move with him. He looked up at Danny in confusion, eyes narrowing after a second. “That’s why. Our gifts are different. Has your mother told you anything about it yet?”  
  
“No.” The word was tight and clipped, mouth paling out as he bit his lips and his eyes flashed angrily.  
  
Danny put Nat on the ‘do not mention’ list. “Mine works by slowing down or stopping energy. From what I’ve seen of yours so far, yours is speeding it up.”  
  
“So you can freeze time?”  
  
Danny smiled a bit, seeing the excited grin spread across Stiles’ face. He was reminded of a time when they would pile into Stiles’ tree house with Jackson and Scott and go over the difference between Marvel and DC, and which superpowers would be the best. It was the only thing Jackson and Stiles could ever consistently agree on: Marvel was way better than DC. But that was a lifetime ago.  
  
“No, that’s not how it works. If I focus on something hard enough, I can slow down the energy or molecules long enough to do what I need. My Mom is teaching it to me, how to focus it and control it. The gifts can be dangerous. Yours especially. You inherited the ability to speed up molecular structures. Kinetic energy.”  
  
Stiles got a thoughtful look on his face, one that always set a worried edge to Danny. Those looks reminded him of times that led to skinned knees and broken bones in the name of adventure.   
  
“Like a car window?” He wondered, looking up at Danny.  
  
“I suppose. Like we said, your trigger seems to be anger. If you were around one and angry, your energy, your magic, might’ve been looking for an outlet and focused on the closest object that was weak enough to combust. Like when you were trying to get away and the deadbolt blew. You were focused on escaping, that was in your way, so you unconsciously tapped into your magic and it blew.”  
  
Stiles stood, trying to pace the restless energy out of him. It’d always been sitting beneath the surface and he wondered if maybe that’s what it’d been all along. The magic. His birthright. His destiny. He wanted to snort at the thoughts, the possibilities, that he was meant for something more. Something big. Maybe it wasn’t ADD or ADHD that he had. Maybe it was just the magic in him slowly boiling for the last decade in preparation of his eighteenth birthday.  
  
He wasn’t ready for this. For any of it.  
  
“Training me is pointless. I don’t want this.”   
  
“Bull.” Danny spat angrily, causing Stiles to look at him in alarm. Danny was nicknamed The Buddha on the team because he was always so levelheaded and didn’t let things get to him. “You can’t get rid of it, Stiles. Not anymore than a werewolf can get rid of theirs. It’s a genetic mutation. It’s not going to go away. So you have a two options. One is to not use it and risk hurting people by tapping into it like you have been, when you don’t want to. Two is to man up and learn this so that you don’t completely screw up and hurt yourself or your friends or your father.”  
  
Stiles sighed through his nose harshly, plopping back into the chair and staring Danny down. “Who else knows?”  
  
Danny was surprised by the sudden subject change. “Uh, my family, obviously. That’s really it.”  
  
“Why not Jackson?”  
  
“Because he wouldn’t understand.” Danny shrugs it off, pushing off the bed to turn away from Stiles. He wanted to tell Jackson more than anything. But his family made it clear that no one that wasn’t like them could know. It’d put too many people in danger.  
  
“He knows about the werewolves, dude. I’m sure he’d understand.”  
  
“I just can’t, okay? My family won’t let me.”  
  
“Well,” Stiles trailed off, pausing to consider how to continue that. “That sucks. I mean, I thought when we decided to go from quarto to dos that we’d still at least have best friends that we could confide in about everything. I’m telling Scott the next time I see him. You should be able to tell Jackson.”  
  
Danny frowned, “We didn’t decide anything. You and Jackson were fighting over Lydia and neither of you were budging about who could go for her under the rules of the Bro Code of Dibs that we made when we were like… eleven. It broke up the Fantastic Four and you and Scott became Batman and Robin while we became Iron Man and Bruce Banner. I couldn’t leave Jackson alone. So we just went our separate ways and I lost two of my best friends.”  
  
Stiles gaped. “Danny…”  
  
“It’s okay, though.” Danny shrugged it off, “It looks like destiny has our plans sorted for us.”  
  


* * *

  
  
The thing about lies, is they always have a way of catching up to a person. You can convince yourself that you’re keeping the secret to protect someone you love, maybe multiple someones, but when it comes down to it – it’ll implode like a nuclear bomb and evaporate anyone within a five mile radius.   
  
It all comes to a head when Scott’s lurking outside of the door, voices penetrating the weak wood and sounding loud to his enhanced hearing. One is arguing about how they need to know the truth, they deserve it. The other is fighting back, saying it’s her choice and he needs to stay away like she warned him, that no one can know about their past.  
  
It’s all Scott can take before he’s shouldering his way into the room, the door creaking and splintering down the center through his rage. The shock and electricity that crackled in the air from the woman set Scott even more on edge than he was. His eyes volleyed between the two occupants, anger building with each passing second. His claws extended, canines following and his vision sharpening as he gave into the wolf.   
  
“Scott…” Derek attempted a warning tone, eyeing him warily, but Scott let out a growl, halting his speech.  
  
“You knew all along, didn’t you? You knew she’s been alive this whole time and you didn’t think Stiles had a right to know?” Scott wanted to bite and tear in the name of his friend, his brother. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you but Stiles said we should give you a chance with the wolves coming to contest the territory and with Peter and Kate still out there. He said we needed to work together. He defended you to me! And all along you’ve been betraying him.”  
  
“Scott, please, there are some things you don’t understand.”  
  
“Like you working with the Argents?” He rounded to Natalie. “Allison saw you leaving the house. Heard her parents talking about wanting to kill you like they do werewolves. That you can’t be trusted. So how about you tell me what the hell’s going on and then we can go tell Stiles, who deserves to know more than anyone.”  
  
Natalie and Derek shared a look, moments filled with tension as they contemplated whether or not they should be telling Scott the whole story. Eventually, Natalie heaved a sigh and sat down on the ratty motel bed, scrubbing her hands over her face in a way that was so entirely Stiles that Scott let his wolf bleed away in the familiar comfort of it.   
  
“It all started ten years ago…”

 

 


End file.
